


let's be true, you and i

by ratbandaid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Drinking, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mutual Pining, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbandaid/pseuds/ratbandaid
Summary: “Aw, Ingrid, keep making that face and you’re going to get wrinkles on your lovely, lovely face,” purrs a new voice, right behind Felix. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”Felix sits upright and turns to face the speaker. Sylvain, all roguishly good looks and smarmy, asshole smiles, stands there, grinning sweetly at him and Ingrid as he pulls out the empty chair beside Felix. Ingrid gives a heavy sigh and rolls her eyes. Felix thinks he might follow suit.“You shouldn’t let Ingrid bully you like that.” Sylvain locks eyes with Felix and leans in towards him. Felix instinctively leans backwards. It does very little to deter Sylvain, who only cocks his head curiously, his eyes wide and innocent. “Oh? I don’t believe I’ve seen a pretty face like yours around here before.” The smile grows a touch wider, a touch sweeter. “Are you new around here, sweetheart? Is this your first time, maybe?” He winks suggestively. “Being here, I mean,” he adds innocently, like an afterthought.Felix glares at him. Well, at least he’s a little more awake now.-----Jazz bar singer Sylvain AU for the Sylvix Big Bang!
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, background Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 37
Kudos: 155
Collections: Sylvix Big Bang





	let's be true, you and i

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was heavily inspired [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQtGi6lzeZY), ~~even though it's not really jazz~~ and is part of a collab with @qiliin on Twitter for the Sylvix Big Bang event!! The lyrics seen later on are actually the lyrics from the song!
> 
> This is my first fandom event ever, and I'm really excited and grateful to have been a part of it!!

When Felix was thirteen, his older brother, Glenn, had insisted on bringing him to Ingrid’s winter piano recital. 

Felix had kicked up a pretty big fuss about it. He promised Dimitri that he would go to his birthday party on that same day, which would beat out going to Ingrid’s boring piano recital any day by a long shot. His father got mad at him—and it wasn’t the typical stern-glare kind of mad either—but before he could really tell Felix off, Glenn had simply walked over, ruffled Felix’s hair with a smile, and told him, “What is rare only rarely lasts forever.”

A few days later, Glenn was killed in a terrible car accident.

Felix really had no idea what to make of that Glenn’s words at the time—Ingrid’s seasonal piano recitals were far from rare, if that was what Glenn was insinuating—but he clung onto them like a lifeline and hasn’t let go since. He’s always figured that he’d find out what they meant later on, that Glenn was giving him some sort of life-changing advice to help him in the future. Yet, even now, he holds onto this phrase, even though he’s pretty sure that Glenn was just trying to get his bratty teenage self to shut up and that Glenn just meant that going to the recital would make for a good memory to reminisce on. 

It’s a pretty standard phrase. ‘Nothing lasts forever’ would probably have been an easier way to phrase it and get a relatively similar meaning across. Glenn was always one for dramatics, though.

Felix stares out the window of the taxicab, staring at the cityscape. Even though he’s grown up here in Faerghus, he doesn’t think he can ever get over how the buildings look, shiny skyscrapers twining upwards towards the sky while dense crowds of people bustle by buzzing neon lights and dim streetlights. It used to bring a sweet, calming feeling of nostalgia washing over him, but all he really feels now is a mild sense of anxiety clawing at his chest and wringing out his stomach.

It’s been a little over five years since he’d last been in Faerghus; it’s been a little over five years since he’s last seen his close friends. Sure, he’s kept up with them over the years—he’s seen Annette’s first pop ballad going big on the charts, Ashe opening his first little cat café, and even Ingrid and Dorothea’s engagement photos from a few months ago—but texts and phone calls can hardly ever make up for the real deal. He just hopes that he can make up for the lost time by visiting them now.

Felix isn’t emotionless. He missed his friends too, more than he cares to ever admit, and he's happy that he can see them again. It’s just been rough for him lately. Quitting his full-time job and having to scramble to find part-time jobs that would pay enough for his rent and his food was honestly brutal, but he’s just glad that he could escape from his father’s unrealistic ideals of being unconditionally faithful to a single company and the expectations of Felix to be a miniature Glenn.

Honestly, his old man is a little overzealous. Even Dimitri, his father’s literal boss, doesn’t care nearly as much about the Fraldariuses' loyalty to the company or whatever the hell it is that he insists on practicing.

It’s a miracle that he managed to make enough money to make this stupid trip—and by ‘miracle,’ he means years of hard work, sleepless nights, and a small sum of cash from an “anonymous sender” who was most definitely a guilt-ridden Dimitri. 

Felix knows that deep down, he still blames Dimitri for Glenn’s death since Glenn, in his last moments alive, had swerved the car to take the brunt of the hit, rather than let Felix’s childhood Dimitri get hit. Yet he just can’t stand Dimitri’s pity. 

After countless attempts of trying to send that boar his damn money back and getting Dedue back at his door again, holding out a neat envelope of slightly less money in an attempt to appease Felix, he realized that it was useless. No matter what he did, Dimitri was still going to apologize profusely, beg Felix to stop calling him a boar, and send him money.

In a way, it feels like Dimitri is trying to Glenn’s position as Felix’s older brother, giving him a bit of his paycheck and checking up on him from time to time. Felix hates it. He hates that it reminds him of how Glenn would hand Felix a few dollars from his own allowance, how Glenn would pop into his bedroom to check on him when he got in trouble, how Glenn was no longer there. He also hates how it humanizes Dimitri, how it makes Felix sympathize with him, how it reminds him that while Glenn is no longer there, Dimitri is.

When Dimitri had heard that Ingrid was thinking of visiting Felix but couldn’t bear to leave Dorothea or their business behind, he had sent Felix a great sum of money and insisted that he go take a break. Felix had shot down that proposal immediately. After all, he had a cat to watch over and several jobs to do, not to mention that he couldn’t just _take_ money from someone for a vacation.

This had been an argument between Dimitri and Felix for a little less than year. At one point. Dimitri came to see Felix in person and practically begged him to go back, handing him the money and promising that Dedue would take good care of his cat. Felix remembers that night quite vividly because he and Dimitri argued for nearly three hours, a constant back-and-forth. He only really agreed to go because Dimitri had called Ingrid to help convince him halfway through the fight.

Felix was never particularly good at arguing with Ingrid. Glenn wasn’t either. Maybe it was genetic.

So here he is, sitting in the back of a taxicab and impatiently jiggling his leg as he looks out the window at the dreary night sky, the clouds visible against the midnight sky. He just wants to hurry up and get back to the hotel room that Dimitri booked for him, but that doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen any time soon, especially considering how Ingrid is practically forcing him to come to her bar.

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius,” Ingrid swore through the grainy phone speaker as soon as Felix had told her that he had gotten to his hotel room, “if you don’t drag your stupid, stubborn ass to Azure Wings tonight, I’m going to make Ashe pick the lock to your hotel room so I can come in and personally cut off all your stupid hair.”

Of course, Felix knew it was just an exaggeration and that Ashe—sweet, little Ashe with his heart of gold and puppies and kitties and all things good and wholesome—would never voluntarily help Ingrid break into his hotel room.

Or so he hoped.

Even so, it never hurt to be sure. It’s not like he valued his hair that much or like he didn’t trust Ashe not to sneak all five-foot-five-inches of pure Ingrid wrath into his room. He would rather just spare everyone the trouble and do what Ingrid asked. Not because he’s scared of Ingrid though. No one should be scared of Ingrid.

(Okay, so there’s a slight possibility that he was a _little_ scared of Ingrid, but it’s less fear and more respect for what she’s capable of. He blames the time that Ingrid fought some kid two grades above them and ruthlessly beat him into the school’s courtyard when they were little. All over a spot in the lunch line too. He supposes that it surprised his younger self so much that he holds some sort of subconscious fear of her to this day, but that’s just one thing on the never-ending list of secrets he’ll take with him to the grave.)

Before he knows it, he’s handing money to the cab driver and stepping out onto the sidewalk. 

He follows a blue neon sign to a classy bar, where upbeat contemporary jazz flows out through the open doors. The vocals are muffled, but someone’s definitely singing. He hears the sound of people chatting and laughing and the sound of glasses and utensils clinking and rustling amongst the music. The smell of alcohol and some finger foods seeps into the air as he gets closer and closer.

Felix takes out his phone to text Ingrid and tell her that she’s here, but just as he gets to the entrance of the bar, Felix hardly has time to put his phone back in his pocket before his arm is crushed in a vice-grip and he’s yanked in through the door.

“Ingrid,” he deadpans, “my arm.”

“Felix,” she snaps at him, holding him at arm’s length, “can’t you at least pretend to be happy to see me? I mean, I haven’t seen you in years!” After a quick once-over, she pulls him into a tight hug. “I missed you,” she mumbles. “We all did.”

Felix shuts his eyes briefly and leans into the hug a little before pulling away. “You cut your hair.”

“Oh! You noticed.” Ingrid grins at him and almost instinctively, her hand comes up to tuck a strand of wispy blond hair behind her ear. He doesn’t tell her that it fits her or that it looks nice. Ingrid doesn’t seem to expect him to either, smiling still. She looks at his hair and cocks her head. “Did you cut yours?”

“Yeah. Anyway. I have to say,” Felix muses. “It’s kind of nice to be back in Faerghus.” He ignores how Ingrid perks up at that.

Instead of listening to whatever advertisement Ingrid tries to put in for him to move back to Faerghus—it’s nothing that he hasn’t heard before, honestly—Felix takes this opportunity to look around the bar. 

The bar is dimly lit by lamps in the middle of every table and soft neon blue lights along the walls. The tables, neatly spaced out along the spotless cherry hardwood flooring, all seem to face a large stage, illuminated by a few stage lights. On the stage, there was a man, crooning into a microphone and smiling flirtatiously at the crowd.

“Enjoying the view?”

Felix turns to find Dorothea joining them, her arm casually wrapped around Ingrid’s waist as she leans against her.

“Dorothea.” Felix nods at her.

She doesn’t seem to take any offense by his terseness. She offers him her signature smile.

“Nice to see you too.” Dorothea lets go of Ingrid and walks over to Felix, pulling him in for a brief hug. “Isn’t it nice here? My Ingrid and I worked tirelessly to make the best bar in Faerghus, you know.”

“It’s nice. I like the lights.” Felix nods. “I didn’t know you had a live jazz performance here.”

“Well, it’s not always jazz. Sometimes, it’s just classical music; sometimes, it’s a karaoke night. We like to switch it up and introduce new talents.” She smiles. “There are even days where I go up there and perform with Manuela—you remember Manuela, don’t you?”

“On weekends, we have Sylvain perform,” Ingrid adds, gesturing at the stage, where the singer is singing as he sits on the edge of the stage, one leg propped up while the other hangs over the edge. “He typically picks something jazzy.” She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t exactly always agree with what he’s doing, but he’s a friend of mine and he brings in a pretty big crowd.”

“What, do you hate jazz or something?” Felix asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ingrid shakes her head; Dorothea chuckles good-naturedly.

“You’ve never met Sylvain, right?” Dorothea doesn’t give him a chance to answer. “Well, let me tell you something about him. He’s the resident heart-breaker. All he ever does is flirt, sleep around, and make girls cry. He uses his singing to really reel in a bunch of girls.” She shakes her head, expression a little more solemn now. “It’s sad, actually. Women—and even a few foolish men—flock to him like sheep to the slaughter.”

“But he brings in a good crowd on the weekends, and he’s really not that bad a person.” Ingrid sighs, crossing her arms and she flicks a disapproving look towards the stage. “I’ve tried to make him reconsider being like that and all, but…” She trails off and averts her gaze. Dorothea places a hand on her arm, looking a little concerned.

Felix doesn’t really like where this conversation is going. It’s not his business to pry into the psyche and the past of some guy he’s never met before, just because they have a mutual friend.

“Let’s go get a seat,” Felix suggests and relaxes when both Ingrid and Dorothea happily agree.

Ingrid and Dorothea had arranged for a few of Felix’s close friends—excluding the ever-busy Dimitri and Dedue—to come to Azure Wings. When they guide him to a table, he’s embarrassed to admit by the jump in his heartbeat, the excitement filling his body at just the mere sight of his friends.

Annette, Mercedes, Ashe, and even Bernadetta had all made it to the bar, all seated at a table and talking excitedly with one another. Annette notices him first and beams at him, shooting up from her chair and waving at him. A wave of embarrassment washes over Felix when his other friends turn and stand to greet him, drawing the curious attention of nearby bargoers.

He’s smothered in hugs and _we missed yous_ and _it’s so nice to see you agains_. He indulges his friends, letting them cling to him and nodding along to their words, so desperately wanting to repeat them back but finding himself too embarrassed to.

It’s been five long years, so he supposes that it makes sense that his friends have all changed. He’s seen their changes—he’s called them on several different occasions and seen their social media posts. But it's undeniably strange seeing Mercedes with a bob cut and Bernadetta and Ashe standing around his height.

(It only makes him think—has he changed enough? Has he changed at all?)

As he and his friends settle down at the table, taking their seats, Ashe seems to remember something, sitting up with a twinkle in his eyes. “We made you something!” Ashe excitedly tells him, casting his gaze to Bernadetta, who smiles and sets a neatly wrapped basket of what seems to be homemade treats on the table. 

Annette perks up and puffs her chest out. “Oh! I helped too! Mercie says my baking’s been getting better!” She looks to Mercedes, who nods along enthusiastically.

Felix gives a hum and sets a hand on his hip. “Huh. Is that so?” He shifts the basket a little to try and get a better view of the treats inside. He can already taste the sickening, saccharine sugar on his tongue, but he knows it’d be rude to dismiss all their hard work. 

“And we know you don’t really like sweets,” Bernadetta adds, watching him search the basket, “so we made lots of low-sugar things. A-and breads!”

“All at Ashe’s café.” Mercedes laughs. “Oh, you should have seen the adorable, little kittens there, Felix! They were so curious to know what we were doing!” She giggles, as if recounting the memory of the cats.

Felix suppresses a small smile. “Well, this is really nice and all, but it’s completely unnecessary.” 

"Well, we just really missed you and wanted to do something nice.” Ashe beams, sweet and sincere. “It’s not the same without you around, you know?”

“Yeah, Felix! You could at least make an attempt to come and visit us more often!” Annette huffs at him with an endearingly childish pout.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Annette lightly smacks his arm. “You know what I meant!”

As Annette's bickering fades into the background, Bernadetta speaks up. “It really is wonderful seeing you again." Her voice is soft but clear, audible over the sounds of the bar and the performance onstage. He forgets that Bernadetta isn’t the skittish recluse that she was when they first met; she’s become more confident and happier since she’d cut ties with her father.

(Now that he’s here, he can tell that he’s missed his friends more than he imagined. At least it seems that they’ve all been relatively successful and happy. Felix wishes that he were there to support them and see them through their struggles. But he also kind of selfishly wishes that he were like them—carefree, successful, surrounded by love and friends, but above all, _happy_.)

The night is a lot better than Felix could have really imagined it to be. He and his friends are all having drinks, sharing stories, having a good time just the way that they used to before they grew up and parted ways. The atmosphere is really nice and chill, and the music in the background is very soothing and nice.

And the singer is rather easy on the eyes.

Felix finds himself staring at the performer— _Sylvain,_ he recalls Ingrid and Dorothea calling him—more often than not. He’s good-looking, with tousled, red hair that frames his face and with cloyingly sweet, honey-colored eyes. His smile is charming, often accompanied by a flirty wink—though Felix supposes he ought to have a nice smile if he’s pulling in girls like Ingrid and Dorothea claimed he was.

Sylvain’s voice is smooth and silvery, honeyed and sexy. It definitely doesn’t help that he’s singing such sweet words of love and longing. He’s definitely playing up his already unfairly high levels of charm through his singing voice and making the poor unassuming girls in the crowd swoon, but there’s no denying that he’s a stellar singer, the perfect performer.

Felix finds himself both frustrated by and fascinated by Sylvain. How can just one man have such good looks _and_ talent? And what had Ingrid been implying when she implied that she asked him to stop sleeping around? Sylvain feels like a walking enigma—or, rather, a walking and singing enigma was an unfairly pretty face.

Felix’s eyes can’t leave Sylvain, following as he sways to the beat of the music and walks about the stage dramatically, one hand clutching at his chest as the other holds his microphone right at his lips. Sylvain’s lashes flutter as he flicks his seductive, low-lidded gaze at Felix’s table. His eyes drag over the girls and stops at Felix, where he cocks his head earnestly, like a puppy. He tosses a flirty wink Felix’s way.

“My, my! Why, it seems like you’ve caught Sylvain’s eye,” Mercedes teases, gently nudging him with her shoulder. “Watch out now, Felix. He’s got quite a reputation around here, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Felix waves dismissively at her. “Ingrid and Dorothea already gave me the whole spiel. I’m not interested anyway.”

Felix has never been a good liar.

The whole night feels like the goddess testing Felix’s sanity. His friends relentlessly tease him about Sylvain, despite how he insists that he doesn’t care about some redheaded man-whore. Sylvain keeps looking over at him, low-lidded, lusty, leering as he sings with a smile. And to top it all off, all the drinks he’s had are starting to get to him.

The world around him feels warm, surreal, unstable, muted. The music and the sounds of the bar become dull, accompanied by Sylvain’s sweet, muffled tenor, and the colors all start to dance and blend together as if they were reacting to the music. The lights around him are dizzying and almost nauseating. He can hardly understand what his friends are saying to him. He just kind of wants to lie down and sleep now.

So he does—well, he tries to. 

He lies his head on the table as his friends happily chatter and as the music carries on. It’s comfortable. The room is warm, the sounds are nice and smooth and muted, and he’s comfortable with his cheek lying against the polished wood of the table.

But just as he starts to drift off, Ingrid grabs his arm and gives it a light shake.

“Are you really that jet-lagged?”

“No,” Felix mumbles, sitting upright and raking his hands down his face in a poor attempt to wake himself up. As expected, it doesn't quite work. “Just tired."

Ingrid’s expression softens before that maternal instinct of hers kicks in. She starts asking about his jobs and his mental health, about his diet and his sleep schedule. Felix groans and flips her off, flopping his head back onto the table.

“I worry about you, Felix.” She huffs at him. “We all do, you know. You just up and left one day and just never came back, only to go and work yourself half to death..”

Felix shifts his position so that half of his face is pressed up against the table, the other half facing Ingrid. “I told you guys I was moving.”

Ingrid draws her face into a stern scowl, her shoulders rising up to her ears. "Yeah. You did. The day before!” 

Felix just sighs. 

In his defense, he tried telling his friends that he was moving sooner. It was just so hard to bring such depressing news onto a group of bright and happy people, especially when it would only bring about unnecessary concern. So he swallowed down his worries and let himself get dragged around by his friends to parties and hangouts and the like until it was too late for them to really prepare. He kept it vague, telling them that he was moving soon and that he had to for his father’s job. 

Everyone had understood—because _of course_ they did—but they were all shocked nonetheless when they found Felix’s empty house the next day. Needless to say, no one was pleased with his decision to leave, and Felix wasn’t pleased with each of his friends giving him an individual call to scold him for what seemed like an eternity.

“Aw, Ingrid, keep making that face and you’re going to get wrinkles on your lovely, lovely face,” purrs a new voice, right behind Felix. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Felix sits upright and turns to face the speaker. Sylvain, all roguishly good looks and smarmy, asshole smiles, stands there, grinning sweetly at him and Ingrid as he pulls out the empty chair beside Felix. Ingrid gives a heavy sigh and rolls her eyes. Felix thinks he might follow suit.

“You shouldn’t let Ingrid bully you like that.” Sylvain locks eyes with Felix and leans in towards him. Felix instinctively leans backwards. It does very little to deter Sylvain, who only cocks his head curiously, his eyes wide and innocent. “Oh? I don’t believe I’ve seen a pretty face like yours around here before.” The smile grows a touch wider, a touch sweeter. “Are you new around here, sweetheart? Is this your first time, maybe?” He winks suggestively. “Being here, I mean,” he adds innocently, like an afterthought.

Felix glares at him. Well, at least he’s a little more awake now.

“Knock it off, Sylvain.” Ingrid rolls her eyes and throws a crumpled up napkin at him. 

Sylvain pouts childishly. “Hey! I’m not doing anything.”

“Leave him alone,” Dorothea chimes in. “Felix is a man of class. He didn’t come here to get hit on by your sleazy, good-for-nothing ass.”

Sylvain winces. “You’re really not pulling any punches here, huh, Dorothea?” He smiles nonchalantly anyway, idly tucking his arms behind his head. “So. Felix, huh?” Sylvain pulls his arms down and sets them on the table, his elbows propped up against the table with his hands clasped together. He tilts his head in Felix’s direction. “Well, nice to meet you, Felix. I’m Sylvain.”

"Sylvain?” a soft voice pipes up before Felix can respond. Bernadetta winces slightly when everyone turns to look at her. Her shoulders start to rise up to her ears as her gaze falls, but she slowly relaxes and raises her gaze to look at the redhead in question. “Um… I just wanted to say hi. So, um. Hi, Sylvie.”

“Oh! Bernie! You’re here too!” Sylvain practically hops out of his chair to head over to her, giving her a gentle hug. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been? How’s the writing?” Sylvain’s face lights up as Bernadetta speaks with him, her voice too soft for Felix to really catch any of what she says.

He can tell that she's happy though, her timid smile replaced with one of more sincerity. Her hands untangle themselves from each other and animatedly move as she describes something for Sylvain, whose interest in the topic doesn't seem to waver for even the slightest second.

“Isn’t he supposed to be singing or something?” Felix asks, turning to his friends and raising an eyebrow. The jazz band is still playing, but it seems like the air is emptier without Sylvain singing. The music is nice, but there’s just something _big_ missing. Nonetheless, the quiet bustle and chatter of the other patrons accompanies the instrumental, filling the space.

“I mean, he could be on break,” Ashe tells him, swirling his straw around in his drink before taking a small sip. “He’s been singing for a while now.”

“Yeah! You can’t just sing forever, y’know!” Annette pipes up. “You have to keep your throat hydrated, and you can’t sing too much because your throat’ll be sore and achy the next day.” Her cheeks flush a little. “Trust me!”

The group laughs a little as Sylvain finishes up whatever conversation he was having with Bernadetta moves back to the empty seat beside Felix. He smiles warmly at Felix, but Felix pointedly ignores him, staring at his empty cup. Sylvain seems to follow his gaze.

“How about I get you another drink?”

Felix frowns and pushes his cup a little further away from himself.

“No? Then, maybe can I sing you something?”

Felix ignores the foolish spike of interest that prods at his brain. Instead, he turns to Sylvain, crossing his arms. “Go flirt with someone else. I’m not interested in you.”

Sylvain blinks, and the nonchalant atmosphere around him seems to fade away. A wide-eyed, solemn look quickly replaces the flirty smile on his face. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you didn’t swing that way.” He looks almost sheepish, apologetic for his actions. Almost.

“Oh, please! Don’t take him too seriously, Sylvain. After all, I don’t think I’ve seen Felix this flustered in a long time!” Mercedes pipes up, and Felix shoots her his fiercest glare—but Mercedes has never been afraid of him. In fact, she’s always found his mannerisms endearing, much to his chagrin. She's told him before that she sees her little brother in him so it makes sense, he figures. But that doesn't mean he hates this any less.

Mercedes smiles that saintly smile she always wears, but to Felix, it's a death sentence.

“Oh? So I suppose you were just playing hard-to-get, then?” Sylvain chuckles good-naturedly and turns his attention back to Felix, his flirty smile and low-lidded gaze back in full force. “Well, I do enjoy a challenge, you know. Play as hard-to-get as you want.”

“Fuck off.”

“That's enough, Sylvain. This is company time you’re wasting,” Dorothea cuts in, unimpressed as she checks out her perfectly manicured fingernails. Sylvain pouts, but Dorothea keeps her gaze unmoved by his wiles. “Get back up on stage. Your last few performances are waiting.”

Sylvain gives an exaggerated sigh and throws a hand up to his forehead, fluttering his lashes. “Oh, woe is me! Forced to perform tirelessly for hours on end!” He leans back in his chair. Felix is half-tempted to give him a nudge so that he tips right out of his chair. How would Sylvain react? Genuine anger? Felix doubts it, but he _is_ curious about how much of Sylvain’s personality is real and how much is fabricated.

Felix has a bad feeling that the fake parts of Sylvain’s flirty personality greatly outweigh the genuine parts. After all, he can see right through this redhead. His smiles may fool the masses and his friends, but Felix has seen it all. His life is better than most, but he’s still seen his fair share of disaster and despair. He’s seen people wearing that same smile before. Hell, he’s probably worn it himself a number of times.

Oddly, the way Sylvain smiles reminds Felix of his coworker, Claude.

They wear similar smiles, though with subtle differences—Claude smiles to hide something but has a mischievous tilt to his lips, daring you to pry into him and figure out what he’s hiding, whether it’s something trivial like his latest prank or something deep like his past traumas; Sylvain seems to want to hide away his true self entirely, as if he can become someone new by wearing charming smiles, as if he can convince you that he’s someone he’s not. Smiles that light up the face with life but leave the eyes dark and dead. Smiles that are hastily painted on to hide secrets but can never erase the bearer’s feelings on the inside. Smiles that cannot last forever. 

Felix wonders what Sylvain’s hiding and why.

Sylvain’s voice gently pulls Felix from his thoughts. “You guys’ll still be here, right?” asks Sylvain, standing up from his chair and tucking it under the table. “The party really only starts after my working hours are over.” He grins. "Plus, it's been such a long time since I've seen you all."

“My, sounds absolutely delightful!” Mercedes presses her hands together and smiles, her eyes shut serenely like she's imagining some sort of magical party. “We were already having so much fun, but if there’s a way that we can enjoy ourselves even more, I think we should give it a shot!”

Annette’s expression falls. “Oh. Sorry, Sylvain. Bernadetta and I were planning on heading in soon. The party doesn’t stop, but work doesn’t either.”

Mercedes raises her eyebrows. “Ah, that's right! I promised to drive you three home.” She hums, still looking content. “Tonight has been very fun, though! We can always stay to party next time.” Annette nods excitedly in agreement with Mercedes. "I'd love to see you again, Felix." She reaches across the table and gently pats the back of Felix's hand with a genuine smile. Felix nods at her in acknowledgment.

Ashe picks up his phone and checks the time. He gives a small frown. “Actually, I think I should head home soon too. I don’t want to be late for work in the morning.”

“Ashe, aren’t you the boss?” Annette points out. “You could just open shop a little later, can’t you? It won’t hurt anyone.”

Ashe quickly shakes his head. “Oh, no. I can’t do that. I’d like to prep for the day a little earlier so I can tend to the cats and get some bread baking—but more importantly, I need to set a good example!”

“Always so dutiful,” Felix muses flatly. Ashe only smiles at him.

“Rich coming from the man who couldn’t even make time to visit his friends,” Dorothea scoffs at Felix.

Ingrid smiles a little at Dorothea, a touch of fondness in her eyes. “His schedule is always so crowded. Nothing but going to work and the gym.” Ingrid casts a sidelong glance at Felix, her smile shrinking into a familiar disapproving frown. “Honestly, when was the last time you’ve even had a full eight hours of sleep?”

Sylvain laughs. “Ingrid, when was the last time you’ve let someone live their life the way that they want?” He turns away from Ingrid, instead checking out Felix with his eyes lidded and his smile sweet. “Say, Felix, are you staying with us?”

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere,” Dorothea immediately cuts in before Felix can emphatically tell Sylvain, “No.” When Felix glares at her, she only smiles. “Listen, Felix. We have no idea when we’re going to get to see you again, and my poor Ingrid just about loses her mind when you work yourself to the bone.” She neatly folds her hands in front of her, resting them on the table. “So I think you should stay and relax—enjoy the party!”

“I’m not a party person.” Felix rolls his eyes before his gaze lands on Ingrid, who is leveling him with a haggard look. “I’m going to be in town for a while. And we can talk later. I’m tired.”

Sylvain pouts. “Aw, going so soon?”

“In his defense,” Ashe starts, tugging on his coat as he stands, “he just got here. Faerghus, I mean. He must be pretty jet-lagged.” Ashe pauses. “If you need a ride to your hotel, Felix, I’d be more than happy to drive you back.”

Felix stands, sighing as he stretches his arms out above his head. “I’ll take you up on that offer, Ashe.” Ashe nods at him and politely stands aside, waiting for Felix to finish gathering his things and say his farewells.

Dorothea sighs. “Oh, what a buzzkill, ruining our little get-together like that.” She shrugs. “Well, I guess there’s no helping it. You’ll just have to make it up to me and Ingrid.”

Ingrid smiles at Dorothea. “I guess you will,” Ingrid echoes.

“What?” Felix levels the two with a deadpan glare, but neither of them seem to care.

“My poor Ingrid’s been planning this for a while now, and she wanted to throw you a little party when you got here. But now that you want to go, you’ve ruined her plans.” Dorothea crosses her arms, but there’s no unkindness in her small smile—just mischief. “So now you have to make it up to her.”

Ordinarily, Felix would have told Ingrid to grow up, would have told her that he doesn’t owe her shit. But he’s drunk and tired and he just wants to flop face-first onto his nice, comfy bed in his nice, comfy hotel room in his nice, comfy, totally-not-cat-themed pajamas. So he just nods along.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m going now. Bye.”

-

When Felix wakes up in the morning, he has a shitty hangover and a handful of messages on his phone. He figures he’ll get to the messages eventually and rolls back into bed, promptly passing out again until the obnoxious ringing—or, rather, the obnoxious rattling of his phone vibrating violently against the wooden nightstand—draws him out of his dreams.

He grabs his phone with enough malice to kill a man. Without even checking the caller ID, he answers the call. “What?” he snarls, his voice low and raspy from just waking up. “What the hell do you want?”

“Oh! Good morning!” chirps Ashe’s soft voice from the other side. Immediately, a twinge of guilt reverberates through Felix's body. “I just wanted to call to make sure you got back safely.” He pauses for a second, but when Felix doesn’t say anything, he continues, “I know I drove you back and all, but I just wanted to make sure you actually made it back to your room. You were practically sleepwalking when you got out of my car!”

Leave it to Ashe, ever the caring and responsible friend, to check up on Felix, who is notoriously known among his friends as one of the angriest men on the planet in the morning—a title that is only emphasized after a night of drinking.

Felix rubs his pounding temples. He could really go for a refreshing glass of water right about now. He throws his legs over the side of his bed and sighs, forcing himself to get out of bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“It was really no problem at all!” Ashe hums. “I also wanted to ask if you’ve seen your messages? Ingrid asked me to tell you to please look at them, if you have the time.”

“Haven’t seen them. I’ll check them out later.” That’s probably a lie, but right now, Felix has a one-track mind and it’s currently careening straight into the cup of ice-cold water in his hands. He hasn’t the time or the brain capacity for guilt at the moment—but really, does he ever?

“Thank you! I need to get going now. You should drop by if you have the time! I’d love to bake something for you. Or get you a cup of coffee?” Ashe chuckles. “Or you could just come and visit the cats! I'm sure they'd love to meet you!”

“I’ll think about it.” Felix throws back his water like a shot and sets the empty cup on the counter. “Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye!” Ashe hardly manages to get the word out before Felix hangs up on him.

The rest of the day—well, technically, it’s the rest of the afternoon since Felix woke up so late—is relatively uneventful. Felix locks himself in the hotel room and orders some take-out, lying in his bed in his pajamas while watching some shows on his laptop and ignoring Ingrid’s insistent messages about who-knows-what. And when he finally gets around to scrolling through his messages, he finds out that Ingrid has invited him to come back to Azure Wings and stay for some sort of afterparty, insisting that he was supposed to do it the night before but left instead.

An afterparty? From Ingrid’s messages, it’s apparently exclusive to a handful of friends and isn’t even at closing time. Ingrid tells him that there is an exclusive section of the bar just for close friends to hang out, that it’s much more fun to hang out there, that Felix should come to make up for flaking on her and Dorothea the night before. She promises free drinks and snacks and good music, and honestly, if Felix wasn’t going to take advantage of that, who would?

So Felix agrees to go.

-

Like the night before, Sylvain is there onstage, singing his flirty little heart out to the crowd of swooning, drunk girls. And like the night before, Felix’s friends had all made it.

“What’s this about a new, special lounge room?” Annette asks eagerly.

“It’s like a little living space for us to just chill,” Dorothea explains. “There’s nice, plush couches, and pretty lights, and some games, if you want to play them.” She beams. “And it’s only for people that my Ingrid and I both like!”

Annette snickers. "And you're bringing Felix?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Dorothea playfully grins at Felix, who just gives her an exasperated look. "No offense, Felix." 

“We can go in once Sylvain’s shift ends,” Ingrid says, pointedly avoiding adding onto Dorothea and Annette's teasing, though she wears an amused smile. “He hates when we go in there without him.”

Felix isn’t quite sure how he feels about having Sylvain near him again, trying to flirt and whatnot, but he pushes aside any bad feelings and tries to enjoy his time spent with friends.

They enjoy light drinks, fun conversations, and the music as they idle, waiting for Sylvain. Time seems to drag its damned feet, but by the end of Sylvain’s performance, where he thanks his fans and hands off his microphone to another singer who is making her way up onto the stage, Ingrid and Dorothea have cleared their table and are getting ready to lead them to this exclusive room.

Sylvain saunters over to the group, offering small greetings to the others before sidling up to Felix and smiling at him. Felix tucks his jacket under his arm and frowns at him.

“You’re back,” Sylvain says, his eyes sparkling with some sort of emotion. Felix doesn’t feel like reading into it. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

“I’m not here for you,” Felix quickly answers before sharply turning to follow Ingrid and the rest into the VIP lounge room.

Unsurprisingly, the VIP lounge is decorated with the same, soft blue LED lighting along the walls, but Felix admits that it’s a nice room. The lights dance and slowly change into other colors, leaving the room shrouded in a nice, cozy glow. The couch, set in a booth, is plush and comfortable, and it holds enough space for everyone in their current group and then some. Large, flat-screen televisions adorn the walls alongside some silky curtains and a few beautiful paintings that Felix recognizes as Ignatz’s. Against the far side of the wall, there is a large counter, separating the lounge section from a bar section, chairs neatly lined up against the counter.

“Wow,” Annette breathes. “This is so pretty!” She happily plops down onto the couch. 

“We have a lot of nice snacks and drinks here too." Ingrid steps behind the counter and retrieves several bottles of alcohol and some cups. “Make yourselves at home.”

Felix is one of the last people to sit down, waiting for everyone else to pick where they want to sit. As expected, Mercedes and Annette are inseparable, even in their seating arrangement; Ingrid and Dorothea sit beside one another as well. Bernadetta, with a timid smile, loosely holds onto Sylvain’s arm and lets him pick where they’re going to sit. The only space left appears to be the one beside Sylvain so Felix takes a seat beside him, earning him a wink from Sylvain.

As Ingrid starts pouring drinks, colorful and fruity and _strong_ , Dorothea works with wires and one of the many television screens hanging around the room. She claps her hands in delight when the screens buzz to life. The colorful backgrounds of the karaoke program flash onto every screen; words from some generic pop song silently dance on screen while instrumental idly plays along, waiting for someone to pick a song and start singing. Dorothea taps her index finger against one of the microphones and beams at the echoing thuds.

“It’s karaoke time!” She holds up a pair of wireless microphones, which draws an excited whoop from Annette and a giggle from Mercedes. Dorothea nudges a large book with laminated pages—a songbook, the big, cursive letters on the leather cover of the book claim—towards Mercedes and Annette, and she presents them with the microphones. “Go on and give it a whirl, ladies!”

As Annette and Mercedes look over the book and chat about what they want to sing, Bernadetta curiously peeking over their shoulders and Ashe hopping in from time to time with his own suggestions, Felix reclines a little in his chair. He won’t be doing any singing tonight, no matter how drunk he gets.

Sylvain watches their friends point and discuss the song choices in the karaoke book before casting his gaze to Felix. “Ingrid’s been telling me about you,” he says with a small grin. Felix wonders what Sylvain could have said to her to make her talk about him. Sylvain turns to face Felix. “You used to work with Dimitri?”

Felix gives a terse nod. “I quit.”

Sylvain smirks. “Smart of you.” He passes Felix a drink, his fingers lingering a touch too long on Felix’s. “All that responsibility is so stressful.” He tucks his arms behind his head. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t go through anything like that.”

 _There he goes again, calling me pretty,_ Felix thinks. _Him and his sweet-talking, flirty nonsense._ Even though he knows it’s probably just the mindless flirting that his friends were warning him about, he wonders if Sylvain actually finds him pretty. 

Not that it’s important—Felix is just stunned by the fact that anyone could find him _pretty_ , rather than the typical _callous_ and _cold._ He kind of likes the thought of being found attractive, but that’s for him to know and for no one else to.

“You talk like you know of it.” Felix sips his drink, wincing slightly as the acerbic drink burns his throat on its way down. He lets out a small sigh when he sets his drink back down. Sylvain chuckles at him. 

“Oh, you don’t know? I used to work for the Blue Lions Corporation too. I managed one of the branches near Sreng with my dad.” That explains why Felix hasn’t quite heard of or seen Sylvain working at the company—Felix has never worked near that region or with anyone from there. Sylvain gestures at Ingrid with his cup, the liquid sloshing precariously against the glass. Not a drop spills. “Ingrid worked there too. But we decided it wasn’t what we wanted.”

“You ditched BLC to be a singer? At some bar?” Felix asks, raising an eyebrow. If he quit such a prestigious company to pursue, he should have at least aimed for something more mainstream, something that could make up for the money lost after quitting. Hell, Sylvain definitely had the look and the voice to be a popular singer. He could at least try and break into the charts like Annette did.

Sylvain grins. “Hey, now. You make it sound like a bad thing! I actually really like my job, you know.” He laughs. “I mostly just wanted to get away from there. I’ve never liked the whole corporate-business kind of scene anyway.” He shrugs. “Plus, Ingrid pays pretty well. It was worth it, if you ask me.”

“Ingrid’s not listening,” comes Felix’s response before he knows it. “You don’t have to lie about working here.”

Sylvain’s eyes widen the slightest bit before he gives another laugh, this one sounding just a touch more genuine than the other ones. It’s pleasant, smooth, happy. It’s almost enough to draw a smile onto Felix’s face. Almost. “Come on. Ingrid isn’t that bad. She’s got good intentions.” He pauses and adds, “She just nags a lot.”

Startled by the look that Sylvain’s giving him, with lidded eyes and a sugary-sweet coy smile, Felix averts his gaze, now looking at one of the many television screens on the wall. 

The screens show that Annette and Mercedes are singing some sort of upbeat pop song, the kind that Felix hears on the radio every single day. They sound nice together, bobbing and swaying to the beat of the song as they giggle; Dorothea sings along from her seat while Ingrid smiles at her. Seems that there are just some things that never change, like the bond between Annette and Mercedes, like the bond between Dorothea and Ingrid.

Annette spots him watching them singing and beams, holding out her microphone while Mercedes sings. “Sing with us, Felix!” Annette smiles at him, and Ashe and Bernadetta back her up, trying to encourage him to take up the mic. Mercedes turns to give him a supportive smile of her own.

Felix crosses his arms. “No.”

“Please? It’ll be fun!” When Felix just shakes his head, Dorothea boos him, and Annette pushes her lips out in a small pout. 

She tries to force Mercedes’s mic into his hand and tries to pressure him into singing a duet with her. She’s really close, the mic falling from her grip and Felix catching it almost instinctively, but just as Annette throws her fist in the air in triumph, Felix manages to hold onto his last scrap of dignity before thrusting the microphone off to his side, where Sylvain takes it with ease.

“For me?” Sylvain chuckles, grinning. “If you want me to hear my voice so bad, why didn’t you say so?” He clears his throat. “Okay then. This one’s for you, Felix.” He winks at Felix, but Felix is already pretending the womanizer to his right doesn’t exist—pretending that the slight blush on his own cheeks isn’t there.

Annette laughs. “This’ll be fun too!”

As Sylvain, clinging to the microphone and dancing in front of the group with Annette, croons his own, refreshing rendition of one of the endless, cheesy pop songs about love, his eyes hardly seem to leave Felix’s. Sure, Sylvain would look up at the screen to see the lyrics from time to time, but then his gaze would inevitably drift back to Felix, usually accompanied by a flirty wink or a smug smirk that made Felix’s chest tighten and his face flush. Sylvain seems to know that he’s doing things to Felix because he seems more and more sure in his little flirtations, every smile just that much cockier and every playful sway of his hips just that much more exaggerated.

At the end of the song, Felix’s friend group applauds and whoops like they’re at a concert. In their defense, though, both Sylvain and Annette blew their performance out of the water. Felix makes sure to give Sylvain a pointedly sarcastic clap as Sylvain grins at him, nudging past him to get back to his seat. Sylvain “trips”—Felix and everyone around them could tell that Sylvain practically just fell for no explicable reason—and lands right in Felix’s lap.

“Oh, whoops! Sorry,” Sylvain says, clearly not sorry. “Looks like I’ve fallen for you.” He bats his eyelashes at Felix, almost cartoonishly.

Felix lets out a heavy sigh, ignoring how his cheeks are starting to heat up and how just about everyone at the table is tittering over it. Even Bernadetta tries to hide her amused giggle. 

“No. You’ve fallen _on_ me. And you’re heavy. Now get off.” Felix's face wrinkles up in its usual scowl as he shoves one snickering Sylvain out of his lap and back into his spot beside Bernadetta.

“I’m going to ignore that ‘heavy’ part and pretend you told me I was pretty instead. Anyway, how was my singing?” Sylvain leans forward towards Felix. “It was for you, after all.”

Felix rolls his eyes. He bites back the urge to tell him, _You sounded really good, like you always seem to when you sing. You sounded just as good as when you sing for the huge crowds out front. You sounded amazing,_ _incredible, breathtaking._

Instead, he sighs and tells him, “Fishing for compliments isn’t very becoming of you.”

Sylvain smiles. “So you would have complimented me?”

Felix gives Sylvain a flat look. “I know what you want to hear.”

Then, Sylvain’s smile takes on a different look, just the slightest shift in his lips, but it looks odd in a way that Felix can’t quite explain. “So you’d only tell me what I want to hear, huh?” Though his tone is light and teasing, Felix can’t help but feel there’s some sort of heat beneath his words.

He tries not to let it get to him. “Yeah. Why not?” Felix crosses his arms and sits back. “It’s no different than what you do to me.”

Sylvain’s odd smile stays for just a split second longer before it relaxes into his typical happy smile. “Aww, so you _do_ like being told you’re pretty.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, don’t be shy, Felix! It’s okay if you like me flirting with you.” Sylvain rests his elbows on the table, his head cocked at him. “I’d be more than happy to indulge you, you know.”

Felix sighs and shakes his head, hoping that the dim and polychromatic lighting of the VIP lounge would be enough to hide his embarrassment. He doesn’t bother answering Sylvain since he has a sneaking suspicion that whatever he says would just go over Sylvain’s head. He turns his attention to his friends fumbling with the karaoke machine and tries to relax.

-

Felix isn’t quite sure how he got to this point in the night, but most of his friends are drunk out of their minds, save for Ashe and Bernadetta who are quietly playing a card game together at the booth. Felix isn’t quite sober yet he isn’t quite drunk, teetering along the line that separates the two. He just knows that Sylvain’s been hitting on him relentlessly throughout the night, not enough to be insufferably annoying but not enough to shrug off. And the longer that Felix sits here, now at the counter of the VIP lounge’s bar with Sylvain beside him, and the longer that he keeps drinking whatever Dorothea pours out for him, the more appealing Sylvain looks.

The soft LED lights are making Sylvain’s face glow, his sharper features accentuated and his softer features smoothed out. The way that the lights bounce off Sylvain’s eyelashes, his strikingly beautiful eyes lidded, is killing Felix, making his chest feel funny and his stomach tie itself into knots. And the way that Sylvain, despite his broad and hard-looking shoulders, feels soft to lean against, feels warm to touch, leaves Felix flustered.

This lounge feels like a time vacuum. Felix knows that time is passing, and he knows that there are people outside at the regular part of the bar, but his mind is so occupied on Sylvain and the dumb way his voice seems to float through the air like he’s singing his words and the dumb way he looks at him with suggestively lidded eyes and the dumb way he smiles at him like he’s expecting Felix to fall for him and—

—and it’s utterly infuriating how Felix is drawn in, wanting more and more. 

Sylvain has been recounting some sort of story for a few minutes now and laughing softly, undoubtedly at something that he finds witty. Felix isn’t really listening anymore, though he gets the general gist of this story based on how Sylvain had prefaced it— _y’know, I fell out of a car once while trick-or-treating in high school, and it's not as cool or fun as it looks in the movies, trust me._ He’s sitting close to Felix, their shoulders practically pressed together; they’re so close that Felix is practically resting his head on Sylvain’s shoulder and he can smell the beer on Sylvain’s breath. He stumbles through and slurs his words, like Felix would if he were speaking, but Felix thinks that Sylvain hasn’t sounded this alluring, this desirable, since he was up on stage.

“Felix?” Sylvain asks, giving him a nudge. “Are you listening to me?” Felix tilts his head upwards with a small hum to look up at Sylvain. Sylvain wears this small, smug smirk—like he knows that Felix clearly hasn’t paid attention to anything he said. “It wouldn't hurt you to go home. You look pretty sleepy y’know, sweetheart.”

Felix gives a grunt and stubbornly sits upright. “I’m fine.” He’s not tired. Instead, he’s feeling something entirely different, and that little pet name from Sylvain doesn’t help. “But…”

“But?” 

Felix’s eyes are glued to the way that Sylvain’s lips quirk up. His heart jumps into his throat. He subconsciously craves the feeling of Sylvain’s lips on his own, of Sylvain's hands on him, of his own hands getting tangled in Sylvain's tousled hair. He gulps.

“Felix?”

Felix hears his name slide out of Sylvain’s mouth, like a chime, like a siren’s song, and all his thoughts go out the window.

Felix grabs the collar of Sylvain’s shirt with a growl and pulls him closer. “You’re fucking noisy.” And, without thinking, he shuts his eyes and presses his lips against Sylvain’s. 

It’s not his first kiss, but he sure acts like it is. His face, already flushed from the drinks, heats up even more; his heart jackrabbits in his chest until he feels breathless and dizzy; and his nose bumps into Sylvain’s, their teeth briefly clacking from the clumsy kiss. Yet, despite the bad kiss, Sylvain meets him halfway and gently rights the kiss, tilting his head and deepening the kiss, almost like he’s used to this. What a frustrating thought—to know that others have had Sylvain like this before him. Felix feels the ends of Sylvain’s lips quirk up into a small smile as Felix pulls him closer and places a hand against Sylvain’s chest. Sylvain rests a hand on his hip, likely to stabilize him since he’s about to slip out of his chair and into Sylvain’s lap, but wherever Sylvain touches him feels indescribably warm.

It’s in that moment that Felix realizes, _I want him._

Felix pulls away from the kiss and looks up at him, breathless.

“Didn’t expect that from you,” Sylvain murmurs, gently touching his own lips with the tips of his fingers, but Felix still sees that stupid smile spread across his face. “Can’t say it isn’t welcome though.”

“Shut up.” Felix flicks his gaze over to his friends.

Ingrid and Dorothea are lying on the couch, Dorothea’s head resting in Ingrid’s lap while Ingrid absentmindedly plays with her long, brown locks. Ashe and Bernadetta, trying not to laugh too hard, have expanded their card game to include a tipsy Annette and a drunk Mercedes who are currently bickering over something entirely unrelated to the game. Everyone seems to be having a good time by themselves.

So would anyone mind if he and Sylvain weren’t there? 

Sylvain follows his gaze to his friends sitting at the comfortable couches of the VIP lounge then watches Felix carefully, waiting for him to say something. For once in the night, Sylvain is quiet, hesitant. Felix thinks he knows why so for the second time in the night, he takes initiative.

“Hey.” Sylvain raises his eyebrows at Felix, a silent cue that he’s listening. “Do you—do you maybe want to get out of here?”

-

Felix’s head is killing him when he wakes up the next morning. The incessant chirping of birds outside and the sunlight peeking in through the windows are driving him up the wall. It definitely doesn’t help that he’s somewhere that he doesn’t quite recognize. 

Memories of the night before come to him in small flashes. He remembers hot kisses against his neck and warm hands on his body; he remembers honey brown eyes staring into him and his cheeks heating up; and, most embarrassingly of all, he remembers Sylvain asking him, throughout the night, “Are you sure this is okay?” and him responding with desperate and near brusque pleas to keep going each time.

The thought of being so open and embarrassing practically brings along a full-body blush immediately.

Trying to forget about the embarrassing things he may have said or done, Felix sits up in the bed and looks around. The small room he’s in is meticulously clean with a bookshelf chock full of books with titles like _The History of Sreng_ and _Theatre Theory and Performance_. The desk pressed up on the wall across from the bed seems well-used, file folders resting atop it with a beat-up, sticker-bombed laptop beside it. It’s a nice room—much nicer than what Felix has back at home. 

Felix instinctively tenses when he feels the bed shift beside him. 

“G’morning, beautiful,” rasps a familiar voice, heavy with sleep. Sylvain is sitting up in bed too, his soft-looking hair sticking up in all sorts of directions. He yawns and stretches out his arms; Felix pointedly looks away from Sylvain’s bare chest. “Admiring my room?” he asks with a lazy smile. When Felix fails to answer, too busy figuring out what he wants to do in this situation, Sylvain’s smile quickly melts away. “Hey, are you okay?”

That prompts an answer from Felix. “I’m fine.” He needs to get out of here. He’s not particularly upset that he spent the night with Sylvain—if anything, despite how he would hate to admit this to anyone, he’s pretty content. He’s just starting to feel anxious sitting around in Sylvain’s room, as if Sylvain is going to bring up the night before and insist on something else, something more. 

Sylvain is watching Felix carefully when Felix turns to face him. Sylvain cants his head slightly, waiting for Felix to say something. Felix can’t look into Sylvain’s eyes, too afraid of what he’ll see—too afraid of being tempted again. He casts his gaze away from Sylvain.

“This,” Felix says, in a low voice, “only happened because we were both drunk. Don’t expect this to ever happen again.” That being said, Felix gets out of Sylvain’s bed, relieved to find that he’s at least wearing his boxers. He looks around the room, looking for the rest of his clothes, which he finds neatly folded atop Sylvain’s desk. Is Sylvain some sort of clean freak or something? 

Regardless of Sylvain’s cleanliness-related quirks, Felix starts getting dressed.

Sylvain follows him quickly, reaching out and grabbing Felix’s shoulder hard enough to stop him but not hard enough to hurt him in any way. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. Felix, if something is wrong, you should tell me. Talk to me.”

The concern in his voice was jarring, almost enough for Felix’s expression to change to something akin to shock. Almost.

Felix isn’t stupid. He can see why Sylvain is so concerned, given that they were both drunk as hell. But Felix doesn’t think that they’ve done anything awful together. He isn’t upset, nor does he feel violated. From what he can remember, he’s had quite a good time, especially considering how handsome— _it’s objectively true,_ Felix’s mind quickly defends, _he’s good-looking, and I know for a_ fact _that I’m not the only one who thinks that_ —the man he slept with is.

As he pulls his coat on and turns to face Sylvain, Felix regains composure and keeps his tone level. “Nothing’s wrong, Sylvain.” After a beat, he adds, a little quieter, “The sex was fine.” _Better than fine_ , a stupid part of his brain supplies rather unhelpfully, and Felix shuts it up by focusing on looking for his phone.

He pats down his coat pockets, where he finds his phone. He quickly flips through the messages and finds a barrage of texts from his group chat with his friends, where some of them are rambling drunkenly—there’s a lot of typo-riddled, incoherent texts from Dorothea, waxing poetic about Ingrid’s beauty and kindness and all that lovey-dovey stuff that Felix doesn’t quite get—and a few are inquiring about Felix and Sylvain, to which Dorothea aptly responds, ‘who cares lol.’ Felix is sure that this is going to be embarrassing as all hell to address with his friends, but as long as they’re all following Dorothea’s indifference, it shouldn’t really even come up.

Sylvain stares at him, looking uncertain, but when Felix levels him with an unimpressed stare, Sylvain just shoots him a small smile. “Well, just so you know, there is always more where that came from.” He winks, and Felix rolls his eyes.

“Whatever.”

“Hey, are you sure you don’t want to stay for breakfast? I’ve been told that I’m one hell of a cook, you know.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re any good.” Felix steps out of Sylvain’s bedroom, Sylvain following him. "Could mean that you're an utterly incompetent disaster in the kitchen."

Sylvain only laughs. “I guess you’re right, but you wouldn't know unless you gave it a shot, right?"

Felix lets the conversation die down as he looks around Sylvain’s apartment in his attempts to try and look for the door. It’s just as neat and tidy as Sylvain’s bedroom, and it’s well-decorated with paintings hanging up on the walls, a shelf with some board games stacked on it, and even a few succulents sitting on the windowsill. He eventually does find the front door and puts on his shoes, facing Sylvain—well, honestly, he’s just facing Sylvain’s general direction, unable to meet his eyes. Felix may not have a perfect memory of what had happened the night before, but what he does remember makes it really hard to look Sylvain in the eyes, especially given how embarrassing Felix was.

“Felix,” Sylvain says, his voice like a song. Felix has never heard his name said with such a lovely cadence. It’s indescribably frustrating how his name can sound so nice in Sylvain’s voice. Sylvain grins at Felix with a knowing glint to his eyes. “Come see me again next Saturday?”

Felix gives a small huff and turns. He grabs the doorknob and opens up the door. “I’m going home.”

Sylvain gives a small noncommittal hum. “That’s not a no, is it?”

“I’m going home,” Felix reiterates louder, and Sylvain chuckles as Felix shuts the door behind him and flags a taxi back to his hotel room, ignoring the weird feeling in his chest at the thought of Sylvain’s question and the accompanying smile. 

-

Felix is the one person who understands himself the most—not his father, not Glenn, not Dimitri or Ingrid or Ashe. He understands himself, his motivations, his emotions, his thoughts—all of it. 

So why is it that he finds himself back at Ingrid’s bar on a Saturday night?

None of his friends are there, instead tending to their own personal lives. Everyone other than Ingrid and Dorothea, who are both working behind the scenes of the bar to keep their business running smoothly, seems to have had other plans. Not only is Felix in Ingrid’s bar, on the night that Sylvain is supposed to perform, but he’s also alone.

Which is fine by him. He’s always been better by himself. He definitely wouldn’t want his friends interrogating him or making fun of him for coming to see Sylvain. 

No, he’s not here to see Sylvain. He’s just here to have a nice time at his friend’s bar. He’s absolutely and most definitely not here to just watch some redhead man sing on stage with hopes of meeting him afterwards. He’s just here to listen to some nice music, get a bit buzzed, and be around some other people. After all, back at Felix’s house, he lives in a relatively quiet neighborhood with no friends nearby, and the only company he ever has is his pet cat, who is currently being taken care of by Dedue. There’s nothing wrong with being out in social situations by yourself.

Felix grabs a table, not too far back from the stage but not too close. He still wants to be able to see and hear the performers of the night, after all. He orders himself a drink, though he forces himself not to drink too much too fast. While the live music plays, Felix taps his foot to the beat of the song as he looks over his phone. Ever the workaholic, he checks his work email, even though his boss knows that he’s on a vacation and isn’t planning on having Felix back for at least a few weeks.

The chair across from him, at the same table, is pulled out and someone sits down. His heart beats a little faster as his mind tries to tell him that the person in front of him is a certain redhead. But when he looks up, he finds Dorothea watching him with a small smile.

He should have expected this. Ingrid and Dorothea work here—they literally own the place. He just didn’t expect that they’d be able to pick him out of the crowd.

“Dorothea,” Felix acknowledges as he pointedly does not acknowledge the disappointment rippling throughout his chest. He flicks his gaze back down to his phone.

“Surprising to see you here tonight,” she muses, leaning forward. “Tonight, of all nights of the week.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “I had some spare time.” 

“Don’t you have a lot of spare time, you know, being on vacation and all?” Dorothea gestures vaguely in the air before propping her elbows up on the table and resting her head on her hands. Her smile starts to fade. “I think I have a pretty good idea as to why you’re here.” She doesn’t give Felix a chance to react. “Felix,” she says quietly, her eyebrows furrowing, “he’s not good for you.”

“Who?” 

“Don’t play dumb. You know who I’m talking about.” Felix does, but he'd never admit that aloud. Dorothea frowns. “I’m not going to sit here and tell you how to live your life, but—”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Felix interrupts. He sighs, long and heavy. “I’m not here for anyone but myself. All I want is to listen to some live music and get some drinks.”

She gives him a flat look. “You’re either dumb as a rock or—no, no, you’re really just that dumb, I’m sure.” She sighs and shakes her head, standing up. Felix opens his mouth to speak, to argue, but she cuts him off. “Would you like anything to drink? It’s on the house.”

"Don't give me your pity. I’ll pay.” Felix picks up the menu resting on the table and skims it. Dorothea patiently waits, humming and bouncing along to the upbeat music in the background. Felix eventually points at a cocktail. “I’ll just take one of these.” He fishes out his wallet despite Dorothea’s protests. He tries to hand her the money, and she refuses it.

“You’re a friend, Felix. I wouldn’t feel right charging you.”

“And I wouldn’t feel right essentially taking money from your business.”

“It’s not that deep.” But after some more back-and-forth arguing, Dorothea eventually gives in and takes the money. “Alright, fine. But I’m covering you next time. I’ll be right back.” She pats his shoulder and walks away, weaving gracefully through the crowd. 

A few minutes after Dorothea leaves, a sudden bout of cheering from the tables in the front, near the stage, draws Felix’s attention. He watches as Sylvain, flashing a quick smile and a wave to his audience, wanders onto the stage when he’s drawn to the front. He speaks off-mic with a familiar figure in the front—Ingrid. Ingrid has her hands on her hips in that way that makes even Felix feel like he’s in trouble. She seems to be telling him off, but Sylvain only laughs good-naturedly at her, earning himself a soft swat on the arm. 

“She’s taken.” Dorothea’s playful teasing precedes the soft clatter of his drink against the table. “But I have a feeling that you’re not looking at Ingrid, are you?”

Felix rolls his eyes at her and reaches for his drink to take a sip. “I’m not looking at anyone.”

“Mm-hmm. I’m sure that’s true.” She pats his shoulder. “Enjoy the show.” She smiles at him, though Felix finds it to be odd, to be a touch different from her typical smiles like there’s some kind of emotion underlying it—something almost like _pity_. Felix doesn’t know what to make of it, but luckily, he doesn’t have much time to think about it because a voice from the speakers neatly strewn about the bar calls his gaze towards the stage once more.

“Good evening, everyone.” Sylvain practically purrs into the mic. A round of raucous cheering from the front, probably from Sylvain’s fans, follows his greeting. “How are you all doing tonight?” Another round of cheering. Sylvain smiles and introduces himself to the crowd. 

Felix is nowhere near drunk, but Sylvain’s voice, his very _presence_ , just so heady and strong, even from a great distance. Sylvain is simply speaking to the crowd, giving the band accompanying him a bit of time to make any last minute preparations before playing, but Felix is still drawn to him.

No, Felix is absolutely not drawn to Sylvain. Again, Felix is here to listen to some nice music and get a bit buzzed. He’s not here for Sylvain.

At least, that’s what he was trying to convince himself—and was successfully convincing himself of—until Sylvain started performing.

Tonight, it seems, Sylvain is kicking off his performance by singing a few jazzy covers of popular songs. The band is doing a great job of changing the styles of the songs, but Sylvain’s performance is extremely entertaining. His singing, typically smooth and soft, is now a touch richer, a touch huskier. The way that he dances on stage to the more upbeat songs only makes the performance that much more entertaining.

And whenever he sings a softer, slower song, Sylvain sways back-and-forth slowly. The rings adorning his fingers and the necklace hanging around his neck, the earrings and the bracelets he has on, glint and glitter in the cool light with every movement, accenting little parts of him here and there; he looks ethereal, like a prince caught in a soft serenade. His eyes are half-lidded and heavy, giving Felix a hazy reminder of their time together. His eyes, framed by lashes tinted by the soft lighting of the bar, gently and slowly move across the audience as he sings. 

Then, the world slows to a stop when Sylvain’s gaze lands on Felix. Even from where he’s seated, a good distance from the stage, Felix can see the recognition in Sylvain’s eyes. He almost looks surprised, but he regains composure immediately, though he isn’t able to hide the small smile on his face as he continues singing. His gaze is now locked on Felix, and Felix is unable to look away. 

From there, Sylvain kicks up his flirty act a notch, swaying his hips sensually. He leans into the microphone, tilting his head almost like he’s about to kiss the mic. He winks at Felix, and Felix finally tears his gaze away from Sylvain, flicking his gaze away briefly as he takes a sip of his drink. But his gaze always manages to wander back to Sylvain, who is, unfailingly, watching him.

-

When Sylvain’s performance has ended, Felix notices how Sylvain quickly steps off the stage, only to be met by fans who happily chatter and flatter him, some even going as far to hand him daintily-wrapped gifts. He watches as Sylvain takes the gifts with elation, with a warm smile that leaves his fans swooning even more.

The fans up there are flushed, feverish, flirty. They all vie for Sylvain’s attention, and Sylvain seems to be giving them his time with nothing but good-natured smiles and honeyed words, Felix is sure. He can’t hear what they’re all talking about, but from how some of the fans are acting, giddy and coy, Felix can assume that his guess is pretty much right.

It leaves Felix feeling some kind of way. Not bad, but definitely not good either. But it also makes Felix think that Sylvain might be busy with something else—some _one_ else—tonight.

He lingers for a little longer, mulls about while watching the swarm around Sylvain, but after a few minutes, where the crowd's fervor doesn't really die down at all, Felix decides that it'd be better if he just left. It'd be a waste of his time to stay any longer, and really, he shouldn't even be here, pursuing _whatever_ it is that he is.

At least he got to enjoy his drink and some nice music so it’s not like it was a night completely wasted. He won’t lie and say that he’s not disappointed, but he knows when to leave.

(Yet, somewhere in Felix, he can’t help but to think, _Why invite me to come see you if you aren’t interested in seeing me?_ Not that he would admit to such childish—such needy—thoughts. After all, it’s not like they’re dating or anything.)

Felix places a tip for Dorothea on the table and stands up. He tucks his hands in his pockets and moves to leave. He figures he might as well tell Dorothea and Ingrid that he’s turning in for the night so he sets out to find them.

He doesn’t know where Dorothea and Ingrid stay during work hours so he ends up wandering about the bar aimlessly, hoping to run into them. He isn’t going to poke around in employee-only spaces or the VIP lounge without Dorothea or Ingrid’s approval; he may be their friend, but at the end of the day, he’s simply here as a patron. 

Felix wanders around for a few minutes, dodging a couple drunk patrons, employees, and tables. He's walking in big circles, keeping an eye out for short, blond, wispy hair and long, wavy, chestnut brown hair, set beside one another since more often than not, they're with one another, but he's having no luck. It'd probably be easier to call out for them, but Felix doesn't make a big deal out of this—especially since that there's a good chance that they're simply taking orders or making drinks or maybe even chatting up some regulars.

Perhaps he'll give up on this pursuit too. Walking around the bar, muttering _excuse me_ under his breath, and getting wary looks from the same handful of patrons, is getting awkward and annoying really fast. It'd probably be best to leave Ingrid and Dorothea alone.

Felix heaves a sigh, a distant feeling of disappointment settling in his chest, and starts to head for the exit, but his path is cut short when he bumps into someone.

“Excuse me.” Felix moves to leave, but whoever he just bumped into reaches out and gently holds his arm, holding him in place. 

“You came to see me.” A familiar, smug voice. He can practically hear the smile in Sylvain’s voice without even seeing it.

Felix takes a small step back and looks at Sylvain, who is, as expected, smiling at him. “I didn’t come to see _you_.”

“Oh?” Sylvain looks unconvinced; he looks amused. 

“I’m just here.” 

Sylvain chuckles. “I see. Well, while you were ‘just here,’ did you enjoy my performance?” His smirk is knowing and cheeky. 

Felix debates between giving Sylvain an honest answer and his typical stoic front—but something tells Felix that Sylvain would be able to detect Felix’s real thoughts anyway. Is Felix really just that bad at lying? 

“Maybe,” is the lame response that Felix comes up with. Sylvain's only response is a mirthful laugh and another knowing grin. Asshole.

Felix hates being this close to Sylvain. He isn’t nearly as drunk as he was as he was when they hooked up, but he's still drawn to Sylvain for some reason. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t had anyone give him this kind of attention in _so damn long_ ; perhaps it’s because he just wants to get his mind off his troubles. Felix isn’t quite sure. All he knows is that there’s someone unfairly attractive in front of him, giving him an unexpected amount of attention.

“Weren’t you talking with your fans over there?” Felix gestures at the stage. “You looked busy.”

Sylvain smiles at him, cocking his head. “Aw. Were you worried that I couldn’t make time for you?” He winks at him. “I can always make time for you, doll.”

Felix clicks his tongue and crosses his arms. “You’re insufferable.” His face heats up nonetheless. “Is this a line you use on everyone you meet?”

Sylvain’s eyes widen. “Hm? No, never. I don’t make promises I can’t keep, you know.”

“Yeah, right.” Felix doesn’t realize that he’s voiced his thoughts until he sees that Sylvain is giving him an odd look, an eyebrow raised.

“Hey, I mean it. I might not be able to make time for others, but for you?” Sylvain smiles. “If it’s for you? I can make the time.” Sylvain waits for Felix to reply, but he doesn’t so Sylvain changes the topic. “I’d love to spend time some more time with you.”

 _Please do then_ , a tiny part of Felix cries out. “Is that so?” Felix deadpans instead.

Sylvain, miraculously sensing the tiniest hint of interest in Felix’s tone, leans in closer and smiles. “Would you make some time for me tonight?” he asks innocently, his voice light and soft like when he sings. 

“Maybe.”

Sylvain cocks his head. “Maybe?”

Felix tears his gaze from Sylvain and starts to move towards the bar’s exit. When he finds that Sylvain isn’t following, instead watching him from behind with a curious look, Felix sighs and walks back to Sylvain, grabbing his wrist. Sylvain looks at where Felix’s hand, embarrassingly small compared to Sylvain’s, is wrapped around his wrist and smiles.

“Oh. I think I’m starting to understand you a little more.”

Felix clicks his tongue and ducks his reddening face away from Sylvain's view as he gives Sylvain’s arm a tug, leading him out of the bar. “ _Absolutely_ insufferable.”

-

Felix pulls on his clothes while Sylvain lies on his bed, texting someone on his own phone and peeking up at Felix slyly once in a while. The night had gone well, but it was much better because Felix was sober enough to take control of the situation. Sylvain didn’t seem like he minded at all. 

He gives Sylvain a small nod of acknowledgement, a subtle farewell to which Sylvain responds with a grin, and opens the door to Sylvain’s room.

Just as Felix steps out of Sylvain’s bedroom, his phone rings. He checks the caller ID and debates leaving Ingrid to go to voicemail, but he has a feeling that this might be important. Ingrid usually prefers to leave him texts, rather than calling him.

He picks up.

“Felix?” Her voice is panicked, short of breath, scared.

Felix's stomach turns at Ingrid’s fear. “What?”

Ingrid lets out a sigh, one saturated with relief. “Oh, thank the goddess you’re alright.”

Felix frowns as he pins his phone against his shoulder with his cheek and he pulls his shoes on. “Of course I am. What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just—” Ingrid lets out another sigh, this time a little longer as if to ground herself and calm herself down. Felix waits patiently until she’s ready to speak again. “Dorothea told me that you came to the bar tonight, and I was worried that you might have gotten involved in that four-car pileup near your hotel. It’s really bad.”

“I didn’t hear about any car accidents.”

“What? How? The traffic there is really bad and a few roads are blocked too!” Felix presses his lips into a thin line. “Where are you? Are you at the hotel? If you’re not, you could spend the night at our place. Dorothea says she doesn’t mind.”

There is a shuffling noise on the other end of the phone.

“As long as you keep your gross Felix germs on the couch,” comes Dorothea’s voice through the phone. Felix can hear Ingrid’s slightly exasperated, but painfully fond _Dorothea, please_ , in the background of the phone. Dorothea chuckles. “I kid. You _are_ welcome to stay the night though.”

A hand gently comes down on Felix’s shoulder. Felix turns to acknowledge Sylvain.

“Is everything okay?” he whispers.

Felix covers his phone’s microphone and holds it away from him. “Just fine.” He holds the phone back up against his ear.

“Felix?” It’s Ingrid again. “Are you there?”

“I’m here.” _How would you even get me? I’m not at the bar or the hotel,_ Felix wants to say, but he holds his tongue. He doesn’t want to go through the trouble of explaining where he is and why to Ingrid.

Plus, he doesn’t want to cause Ingrid and Dorothea any trouble by making them drive out here.

But how _would_ Felix get back to the hotel? If there’s blocked roads and heavy traffic, it’ll take forever to get back to the hotel through a taxi. Couple that with the fact that there are always rubberneckers who will want to gawk at the destruction, and that creates a higher chance of getting into another accident—another reason he’d prefer if Ingrid and Dorothea stayed home.

He isn’t entirely sure of what he’s going to do yet, but he just knows that he doesn’t want to involve Ingrid.

Felix sighs. “Listen, Ingrid, thanks for the offer, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Are you sure? We’re serious. You can crash on our couch.”

“I’m fine.” 

“Alright, but be safe, okay?”

Felix pauses for a bit, waiting for Ingrid to say anything else, and then hangs up. Ingrid’s definitely going to get on his case for that, the next time that she sees him— _you can at least say 'bye’ before you hang up, Felix._

“What’s going on, Fe?” Sylvain asks.

Felix, pointedly ignoring the nickname, tucks his phone back into his pocket and clicks his tongue. “There’s a really bad car accident near my hotel. Roads are blocked.”

“Hmm. That doesn’t sound too good.” Sylvain nods sympathetically. “Well, you’re always welcome to stay here for the night.” Felix raises an eyebrow. “Don’t worry,” Sylvain continues. “I won’t try anything—I mean, unless you really want me to.” Sylvain winks at him. 

Felix rolls his eyes. “I’ll take you up on your offer.” He starts to make his way to the couch. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, but you don’t have to sleep out here. It’s uncomfortable.” Sylvain gestures at his room. “Take my bed. I’ll take the couch. I don’t mind.” Just as Felix opens his mouth to argue that Sylvain should take the bed, Sylvain cuts him off. “Just take the bed. I won’t have it any other way. It’s rude.”

“Fine, I’ll take the bed, but don’t make this into even more of a hassle.” Felix starts towards the bedroom, stopping at the doorway. “You can get in the bed too.”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Are you sure? I’m perfectly fine with sleeping on the couch.” He smiles. “It definitely won’t be the first time I’ve slept out on a couch, and I can promise you that it won’t be the last.”

Felix pulls off his coat and aims a flat look in Sylvain’s direction. He thinks he gets what Sylvain is implying, but he doesn’t want to talk about the trail of broken hearts that Sylvain leaves behind. Why would he acknowledge that he’s the next heart to break?

No, Felix wouldn't be the next broken heart. He's not trying to do anything with Sylvain other than this.

He gives a dismissive wave. “Just get in the bed. I don’t care.” 

“Oh, I didn’t think that I’d hear that from you so soon.” Sylvain grins coyly at him, only earning himself an exasperated head-shake from Felix. “But if you insist.”

“I do. Now stop being annoying and get in bed.”

They both get into comfortable states of undress before crawling into bed. Felix slides into the bed beside Sylvain and lies on his side, his back to Sylvain. Sylvain turns out the lamps illuminating the room. Felix lets out a small yawn and shuts his eyes. He’s tired, but when isn’t he? He might as well get to bed.

Yet, even after around twenty minutes pass, Felix can’t fall asleep. He isn’t sure if it’s because he’s uncomfortable sleeping in this environment or if he’s just not sleepy enough, but he just can’t sleep despite the tiredness seeping deep into his bones. 

It doesn’t help that Sylvain has been tossing and turning behind him. 

A few more minutes pass before Sylvain breaks the silence and whispers, in a barely audible voice, “Hey, Felix.” Felix slowly rolls over to turn and face Sylvain, whose eyes widen a little. “Oh, you’re awake.”

“I can’t sleep with you squirming around like that.”

Sylvain chuckles, a small, almost sheepish smile left afterwards. “Sorry, sorry. I just can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

He gives a small shrug. “Don’t know.” Sylvain reaches up a hand and brushes Felix’s bangs away from his forehead. “So do you want to play a game?”

“A game,” Felix deadpans. “And how old are you again?”

Sylvain gives another light-hearted laugh. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying a nice game from time to time. So what do you say?”

“It’s, like, two in the morning.” But Felix won't say that he’s not intrigued. “What game?”

Sylvain brightens. “Just something simple. How about Two Truths and a Lie?”

“An icebreaker. You want to play an _icebreaker.”_

“Come on. It’s not that bad. I hardly know you, and it’s been, what, two weeks?” Sylvain pushes his lips out in a playful pout. “I just want to know you, Felix,” he adds, his voice gentle and low and his expression innocent and warm.

Felix gives a small huff of disbelief, but he considers this.

He supposes that Sylvain does have a point. Even though they’ve slept together twice now and have spent some time talking, Felix feels like he doesn't know Sylvain well at all. A small part of him wants to know more than just Sylvain’s voice and his body, wants to know _all_ of Sylvain; the rest of him feels like Felix should keep his distance. At the end of the day, Felix isn’t looking for a committed relationship.

He finds himself humoring Sylvain anyway. “Fine. But you go first.”

“Fine by me. Let’s see.” Sylvain hums as he collects his thoughts. “Alright. I got them. I graduated college as a salutatorian. I can speak a little bit of French. I’ve never broken a bone. Which one’s the lie?” He smiles at Felix.

“I’ve met people who haven’t broken bones before. I’ll say that’s true.” Sylvain doesn’t affirm nor deny what he’s said so Felix continues voicing his thoughts. “And I don’t doubt that you can speak French—it’s offered in a lot of high schools around here. So I’ll say that you weren’t a salutatorian.”

Sylvain grins. “Nope. You’re wrong. That’s true.”

“What? Then what’s the lie?”

“Some people haven’t broken bones, but I definitely have. I broke a bunch of bones as a kid.” Sylvain chuckles. “After a while you get used to it,” he jokes.

Felix wrinkles his nose. “Morbid. What, were you clumsy or something?”

“Guess you could say that.” 

_How can someone as graceful and coordinated as Sylvain, a man who regularly sings and dances up on a stage in front of a crowded bar, be that clumsy?_ Felix muses, but before Felix can press him on that, Sylvain cuts him off and tells him that it’s his turn.

He’s never been good at icebreakers. It requires him to give parts of himself away, to tear down his own walls. That’s why he never says anything too meaningful—in fact, he practically has a preset list of things he says when he introduces himself via icebreakers. 

“I have a cat. I’m colorblind. I was in a band.”

“A band!” Sylvain whistles. “Now that’s something I wasn’t expecting.”

“Could be a lie.”

“Could be a truth.”

“So what is it?”

Sylvain considers his options, humming noncommittally to himself. “I can see you having a cat. I mean, you seem like a cat person.”

Felix presses his lips into a thin line. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing bad, sweetheart.” Sylvain winks. Before Felix can demand an explanation, Sylvain continues with his train of thought. “I feel like you want me to say that you being in a band is a lie, but I think you’re telling the truth. So I’ll say that you’re not colorblind.”

Felix bites back the urge to frown like a child. He thought he would stump Sylvain for sure. “You’re right.”

Sylvain beams. “Yes!” His eyes practically sparkle. “A band? What’s the story behind that? You don’t seem like you’d want to be in a band.”

“And you’re right. I didn’t want to be in it. My bandmates had to bug me for months to join.” With Leonie’s stubbornness, Annette’s pleading, and Caspar’s, uh, _volume_ , it was near impossible to keep denying them. If he wanted to live in peace, he’d have to appease them, and if that meant joining the band, he would. Besides, the band turned out to be pretty short-lived anyway since their schedules hardly freed up any time for songwriting or practice.

“What’d you play? Or did you sing?” 

“Bass. I don’t sing.” _Glenn used to play the bass_ , Felix impulsively thinks, and immediately, he snaps at himself, _shut up about Glenn. This isn’t about him. It was_ never _about him._

“I’m sure you can, though. With that voice?” Sylvain slyly smiles. “Sexy.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter me. Your turn.”

“Okay, okay. Hm…” After a small pause, Sylvain lists his three statements. “When I was little, I wanted to be a writer. I can’t ride a bike. I can’t juggle.”

Felix frowns. “Who the hell doesn’t know how to ride a bike?”

“Is that your answer?”

“Sure.”

Sylvain chuckles. “You’re wrong again. You’re not very good at this game, Felix.”

“Shut up.” Felix narrows his eyes. “You’re telling me that you can juggle—you went out of your and learned how to juggle—but you can’t ride a bike.”

“That’s just how it is. My parents never taught me to.”

“Well, your parents suck.” Felix hesitates after he says that. Sylvain’s expression changes subtly, his teasing smile fading into some sort of bittersweet smile. With all those unexplained, broken bones in his childhood and a strange reaction to his parents, Felix thinks that he’s starting to connect dots.

Felix grimaces at the thought of dredging up unpleasant memories for Sylvain. “Well, maybe it wasn’t them. My older brother is the one who taught me how to ride a bike.” 

His flimsy addition to try and remedy the situation and ease the tension from the air, from Sylvain’s face, doesn’t seem to make it any better. 

“My older brother didn’t like to be around me.” Sylvain’s tone is easygoing, unbothered, as if he were talking about something as trivial as the weather, even though his eyes carry a hardened, dark look.

Guilt wracks his body, and Felix wonders if he should apologize for even reminding Sylvain of his parents, but just as he fumbles the ‘s’ in ‘sorry’ through his mouth, Sylvain’s voice interrupts him.

“Riding a bike isn’t an essential skill, in my opinion,” Sylvain cuts in, “but if you’re so bothered by this, then why don’t you teach me how?” Sylvain smirks. “I don’t think I’d mind riding you.” He gives an exaggeratedly shocked face. “Oh, sorry, I mean _with_ you.” He winks. “Slip of the tongue.”

Just like that, the tension fades away. Felix gives him a flat look, his cheeks heating up. “That was wholly intentional.”

Sylvain gives a small hum. “Well, I wouldn’t say _wholly._ ”

Felix shakes his head, exasperated. “Forget it.”

“Okay. Just know that I’d love to see you take the lead. Show me the ins and outs of riding a bike, you know?” He smiles innocently, but Felix doesn’t miss the subtly lowered lids and the wink. “Your turn.”

“You’re treading on thin ice.” Felix ignores the way that Sylvain’s smile only gets bigger, slyer. 

Felix feels like Sylvain is leaving him little hints about his life, probably trying to get Felix to open up about his own life, but Felix physically can’t bring himself to say anything meaningful about himself. He knows that he used to once be open, but now, he can’t even imagine telling people about his childhood or his life. He feels bad about it, but there’s nothing he can really do about it.

Just serves as a reminder that he should probably see someone about this.

“Felix?” 

“Sorry. I was thinking.” Has he been introspecting too long? “I’ve never been on a rollercoaster. I hate chocolate. I used to be on my high school’s baseball team.”

“Chocolate? Who hates chocolate?” Sylvain furrows his brows. “That’s got to be a lie, right?”

“Is that your final answer?”

“Yeah. I’ll go with that.”

“It’s a truth. I hate chocolate.”

“What? You _hate_ it? How?”

“I don’t like sweet things.” That’s honest enough. Felix feels like he’s making some progress with being honest. “Prefer savory or spicy food.”

“Oh, really? I like spicy food too.” Sylvain smiles. “There was this one dish that I used to have all the time as a kid. It was like spicy balls of fried dough and fish. It was like my favorite food in the world."

“I used to eat something like that too.”

“Really? Spicy fish dango?”

Felix nods. “I really liked it.”

“Well! What do you know? That was the same dish I had. That’s really interesting.” Felix yawns. “Oh, you look tired, sweetheart. Do you want to keep playing?”

Felix ignores the pet name, ignores the way that his chest feels so strange and floaty. “I think I just want to go to bed.”

“I see. Well, thanks for indulging me, Felix.” Sylvain smiles at him. His smile looks all the more prettier with the moonlight, streaming through the blinds, illuminating his face. “But I definitely won.”

“It’s an icebreaker.”

“I was keeping score.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Fine. You win this time.” He levels Sylvain with a look. “But next time we play any sort of game, I’m winning.”

“That so?”

“Sure is.”

Sylvain laughs, a light and happy sound that just makes Felix feel warm. Felix rolls over and pulls the blanket up to his reddening ears.

-

For the rest of Felix’s two month long stay in Faerghus, he starts to build himself a relatively steady schedule.

During every other day of the week, Felix will spend time with his friends. He might volunteer to help out at Ashe’s cat café, watching over the cats when Ashe claims one of his workers can’t come in. He might meet up with Annette and Mercedes to get bubble tea, watching as Annette mutters lyrics to herself for her newest single and as Mercedes tries to helpfully come up with rhymes and harmonies. Maybe he’ll get some ramen with Bernadetta and listen to her talk about the newest addition to her plant collection; maybe he’ll spend time with Ingrid and Dorothea, getting barbeque and watching them bicker like they’ve known each other throughout their lives.

Or maybe he’ll just spend his time by himself, stopping by a park to get in a good evening run. He might lock himself up in his hotel room and watch some shows, send some emails, check up on Dedue back home with his cat. He misses Zoltan more than he cares to admit.

But, against his better judgment, the highlight of his week is always Saturday.

Every Saturday, Felix visits Azure Wings and gets a nice buzz from his drinks as he watches Sylvain sing. He sits at a table and scrolls through his social media feed or through his work email until he hears the raucous cheering for Sylvain. He watches Sylvain flirt with the room, his sultry voice vibrantly filling the bar as he dances up on stage.

Every Saturday, he ends up going home with Sylvain. He waits for Sylvain to come off the stage after chatting with all his fans, and he waits until Sylvain spots him, a grin spreading across his face as he makes his way towards Felix. Felix lets Sylvain treat him to some drinks, lets him press their lips together in chaste kisses, lets him lead them both back to his apartment.

And every Saturday, whether he wants to or not, he ends up learning just a little bit more and more about Sylvain. It started small, with things like Sylvain’s hobbies and his favorite foods and even his phone number, which was added after Sylvain plucked Felix’s phone out of his hand one night— _hey, F_ _e, who are you texting? aw, are you replacing me already? here, why don’t I give you something to remember me by?_ But by the end of Felix’s stay at Faerghus, he ends up learning a lot about Sylvain.

Yet Sylvain is still somewhat shrouded in mystery.

Just about everything that comes out of that man’s mouth seems to be saccharine nothings, aimed at keeping Felix content and entertained. He never seems to be entirely honest about himself. At this point, Felix isn’t entirely sure if what he knows about Sylvain is even true or if he’s just making conclusions from the things that Sylvain says. Or it could even just be Sylvain trying to relate to him, to get him to let his guard down.

Nonetheless, Felix grows to trust him, at least a little. Every one of their interactions seems to end rather well, Felix slowly but surely lowering his walls.

Ingrid and Dorothea still worry about him, continuing to ask if this is really what he wants. Ingrid seems concerned that Sylvain is going to hurt him— _he makes girls cry all the time by tossing them aside,_ she claims _._ Felix has to tell them to butt out of his business, which usually gets Ingrid to stop, but Dorothea always pushes a step further and warns him that Sylvain is trouble— _there’s a good chance that he won’t stay loyal_ , Dorothea flatly tells him.

They both seem to think that it might be better to stop seeing Sylvain altogether.

Yet, Felix can’t help it. It’s like quicksand when it comes to Sylvain; the more he tried to get out, the more that Sylvain drew him in. He understands that Sylvain is bad for him, that his very existence spells out trouble in big, flashing, red letters, but he can’t bring himself to stop seeing Sylvain. He's found a friend in Sylvain; he's found _something_ in him.

Hearing this kind of talk from Ingrid and Dorothea frustrates him. He doesn’t want to have to defend Sylvain, especially seeing as they seem to know him pretty well and seeing as they may know something that he doesn’t. There’s a part of Felix that wants to defend Sylvain, even if it’ll earn him a thorough clowning from Dorothea and a stern but disappointed look from Ingrid. 

Even if he wants to, though, Felix is weighed down by the truth. He knows that there’s no way in hell that he _can_ defend Sylvain and be honest about what’s happening between them.

After all, Sylvain still hangs around the bar and flirts with girls who rush to meet up with him after his performances. He still flashes them those pearly whites in that telltale, flirty smile. He still accepts their gifts and their affections with honeyed words and promises and praises.

Hell, he’ll insist that Felix is just a friend to even their mutual friends who might get that they’re seeing each other on weekends.

And he’ll do this even when Felix is right there beside him.

What stands out to him as the most notable example of this was one particular Saturday.

Felix, as per usual, had been sitting at a table and watching Sylvain perform, a drink in his hands, when he felt a ginger tap on his shoulder and heard an unsure, “Felix?”

When he turned, he saw Mercedes, standing there. She perked up at the sight of his face and offered him a bright smile when he turned. “Oh, it _is_ you! Well, isn’t this a nice coincidence? I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” Mercedes giggled. She leaned in. “Are you waiting on anyone?” 

“No. I’m just here by myself.”

“Then would you mind if I sat with you?”

Felix, in the middle of taking a sip of his drink, gestured at the seat across from him, and she happily took the seat. She, too, watched Sylvain perform but would turn to Felix and say things every once in a while, just making easy and comfortable conversation with her. It was never hard to talk to Mercedes, even if she tried to baby him from time to time.

At some point, Ingrid and Dorothea were making their rounds around the bar, tidying tables and meeting a few of their regulars. They stopped at Felix and Mercedes’s table with visible pleasure.

“Oh, Ingrid! Dorothea! Nice to see you two!” Mercedes picked up her purse from where she had placed it on one of the empty seats at their table. “Please, do sit! Join us!”

Ingrid and Dorothea had happily joined them, and while Mercedes did much of the talking with Dorothea picking up where she left off, Felix would only listen and nod along. It was comfortable banter and chatter amongst friends.

Then Sylvain joined them after his set, after catching up with his fans. 

He had wrenched himself away from his adoring fans and taken a seat by Felix, giving him a sly grin. 

“Glad to see my favorite fan is here,” Sylvain had said, leaning in towards Felix’s direction. Felix felt his whispered words brush against his ear, and his face grew flushed. He shot Sylvain a scowl, though Sylvain only responded with a growing smile. 

Mercedes had caught this interaction and was quick to jump to a conclusion. “Oh!” She clapped her hands, clearly delighted. Her eyes practically sparkled with joy. “I had no idea that you two were dating! Congratulations!”

Ingrid and Dorothea had shared a look as Sylvain laughed.

“No, no. We’re not dating,” said Sylvain almost immediately, his voice without even the slightest shadow of doubt. “He’s just a friend, you know? Nothing more.” Sylvain reached over and took Mercedes’s hands in his with a smooth wink. “If I were dating him, I wouldn’t get to see beautiful ladies like you.”

At the time, Felix had been stunned into a silence, staring as Sylvain openly flirted with Mercedes right there in front of him and even Ingrid and Dorothea. He knew that Sylvain would say something like that, especially from how he’d been acting—dismissive and secretive. Yet, he wasn’t expecting that to hurt as much as it did, leaving him with a sharp twinge going through his chest, even after he and Sylvain slept together that same night. 

Not that it really matters, of course. Sylvain was right; he and Sylvain weren’t, and still aren’t, in a relationship or anything. He shouldn’t care—and he most certainly does _not_ care—about what Sylvain does in his free time with other people.

He doesn’t care that Sylvain introduces Felix to his fans and their friends as a friend. He doesn’t care that Sylvain flirts with others, even with him nearby. He doesn’t care that Sylvain doesn’t mention anything of them to their friends, doesn’t care that Sylvain says things about how beautiful and great Felix is in private but acts like what he does with Felix is so clandestine and unimportant in public.

Felix just doesn’t care.

Well.

Alright, so maybe that’s not entirely true. He didn’t used to care. But now, he’s growing curious and more importantly, growing tired of this weird hot-and-cold act Sylvain’s putting up.

Don’t get him wrong. Felix knows they’re only friends with benefits. He knows that Sylvain isn’t interested in him as a romantic partner, and he's not interested in Sylvain either anyway.

Yet why does Sylvain say things that sound so intimate and soft when they’re together? Why does he make Felix feel so important and special when he probably treats all his other one-night stands the same way? Why does he act like they’re barely even friends when they’re at the bar together, instead casting his gaze at the legions of fans who crowd the stage?

Trying to rationalize Sylvain’s contradictory actions only makes Felix’s head buzz with even more questions.

Just what is Sylvain looking to get out of him, other than some nights together? Why hasn’t Sylvain given Felix the same treatment that he gives other girls, the one that leaves his lovers broken-hearted as Dorothea and Ingrid constantly claim?

Felix has always been honest—perhaps _too_ honest in certain cases, seeing upset people get with him after he’s voiced his thoughts. It’s just something that he’s good at. That’s why he decides that the next time that he sees Sylvain, he’ll be honest and ask just what it is Sylvain is looking for in him.

(Even if Sylvain answers honestly, what is Felix looking for? How will Felix react if Sylvain says something that he doesn’t particularly like? What will he do?)

Felix isn’t sure of the outcome or of his own reaction, but he decides that this is something that he must know. The curiosity eats away at him day by day, hour by hour; the frustration gnaws away at his brain minute by minute, second by second. He _has_ to know.

One Saturday, after another one of Sylvain’s stunning performances, filled to the brim with lively love songs and jazzy renditions of popular songs, and after another night together, the questions prod at Felix’s mind until he can’t take it. He rolls over in Sylvain’s bed, surprised to see that Sylvain is awake and staring at him, smiling softly as he sweeps Felix’s long hair out of his face. Something in Felix’s chest stirs.

“Hey,” Sylvain says quietly before Felix is able to say anything. His voice, like a lullaby, calms Felix, but the question he asks and the way he asks it brings Felix unease. “Can we talk about something?” Apprehension laces his voice, but Felix nods nonetheless.

Sylvain takes a small breath in and shuts his eyes for a brief moment. “Well, we’ve been seeing each other for a while,” Sylvain starts, and he pauses. He doesn’t continue until Felix reacts, giving a hum in assent—a cue to continue. Sylvain still stalls a little longer, lifting a hand to brush Felix’s hair away once again. He takes in a deep breath.

“Sylvain, what?” 

His eyes dart about Felix’s face before he briefly looks down at the rings on his fingers, fiddling with them. “I just was wondering,” he stammers out, “well, like, if you’d, y’know, want to take _this—us,_ I mean—more seriously?” Sylvain bites his lip as he waits in anticipation for Felix’s answer.

Felix stares at him, as if waiting for more. Sylvain continues waiting with bated breath and hopeful eyes, something akin to a shy smile on his face.

Then, it connects in Felix’s head and hits him all at once, his world coming to a screeching halt just like it did when he first learned that Glenn died. It feels like the ground was violently ripped from beneath his feet, and his heart is hurtling towards the void beneath him.

Sylvain’s small smile starts to slip away. “Felix?” he prompts gently.

Felix feels months of frustration starting to swell in his chest. How can Sylvain suggest that he wants to date Felix after treating him like some kind of afterthought? How _dare_ Sylvain suggest commitment when he can’t even commit to keeping his attention on Felix for a single night?

As he reflects on their time together, as he reflects on all the times where he shut up his infatuation for Sylvain and all the times where his gaze would linger on Sylvain who would be looking at someone else, Felix only grows more and more hurt, more and more frustrated.

His silence must make Sylvain quite antsy because Sylvain squirms the longer Felix stews in his own anger. “I mean, if you don’t want to, it’s perfectly fine,” Sylvain blurts out. “Don’t feel pressed to say yes.” A pause. “Felix?” 

“Where’s this coming from all of a sudden? Is this some kind of joke?” Felix glares at Sylvain and lets out a long sigh, trying to calm himself. When Sylvain doesn’t say anything, Felix continues, with a shake of his head, “Actually, don’t bother answering that. I _know_ you can’t possibly be serious.”

“Huh? No! I’m—Felix, I’m…” Sylvain stares at him in shock, but almost immediately, Sylvain looks hurt, though he tries to hide the pain on his face immediately. It’s still visible in the way his eyebrows crease, in the way his eyelids dip down just over the corners of his eyes. “It’s not a joke,” he says, his voice weak and small. “I mean it, Felix. I’m completely serious.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “I’m not in the mood to joke about this kind of thing.” _And I don’t think I’ll ever be,_ Felix wants to say.

“It’s not a joke!” Sylvain insists. “I’m being serious! I’m in love with you.”

Felix stops in his tracks. Love? 

Felix will be the first to admit that he doesn't know the intricacies of love—that he only knows of the bare minimum about it. _A strong feeling of affection_. It's something that has eluded him since the traumatizing death of his brother and his deteriorating relationship with his father.

But the one thing Felix does know about love is that it is delicate and vulnerable—and he is not.

To even think of bearing his heart to someone, especially someone with a vicious track record of leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him—to someone who has been treating him so carelessly, so dismissively, so _coldly_ …

To think that he’s let himself be this vulnerable and foolish for so long—it sicken Felix, leaves him exposed and embarrassed and enraged. Furious with Sylvain; furious with himself. He’s fallen for Sylvain’s tricks—hook, line, and sinker. His friends have been warning him about this since day one, and he _still fucking fell for it_.

Felix grimaces and sits up in bed. He can’t let this go any further. He can’t let Sylvain continue to lie to him and string him along, like he does with all of his other one-night stands; he can’t just let himself hand over what’s left of his heart for Sylvain to toy with and eventually smash into a million tiny shards when he finds someone more interesting.

“Felix, please.” Sylvain’s voice is thin. “Say something. Anything.”

At the sound of Sylvain’s voice— _that lying, heartless bastard!_ Felix’s thoughts scream at him, _you fucking idiot!—_ frustration and a hint of fear seize his heart.

Before he knows it, he’s forced a response out of his mouth—clipped, low, angry, like a creature’s growl. Like a cornered creature, on the precipice of capture. Of death. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sylvain stares at him in utter shock, eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape.

“I can’t believe you think that you can just _play_ me like that and expect me to fall head-over-heels for you.” Felix clenches his jaw. “You’re really something else, _Gautier._ ”

Immediately, Sylvain winces like a scolded puppy, his expression sad and almost confused. If Felix didn't know any better, he would pity Sylvain—but he _does_ know better and he feels nothing but rage. “What are you talking about? I—I don’t understand, Felix.”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I’m telling you to fuck off. Find someone else to toy with,” Felix snarls, his expression twisting into one of anger. His skin goes hot with defensive anger, his underlying terror thrumming to the beat of his rapidly-beating heart. “Find someone else to fuck up because I don’t love you.”

“Toy with? Fuck up?” Sylvain echoes, furrowing his brows. Then, it seems to click, his eyes going wide. “No, Fe—no, it’s not like that! I swear!"

“Shut up. Do you really think I don’t know about your _conquests_?” Felix spits out the last word like it’s vitriol in his mouth. “It’s one of the first things I’ve ever learned about you.”

Sylvain doesn’t even flinch as he argues, “But you’re not a ‘conquest.’ You’re not like any of the others and you’ve never been, I promise. I genuinely like you—a lot.” His expressions softens. "There's nothing—no _one_ —quite like you to me."

“Is that a line you use on everyone you meet?” Felix deadpans. 

“No!”

“So you’re going to tell me that I’m _so_ different from everyone else that you actively go out of your way to ignore me and flirt with other people right in front of me?” Felix crosses his arms. “You really think I’m going to believe any of this?”

When Sylvain fails to come up with a good answer, stuttering and stammering, Felix shakes his head and clenches his fists. “I can’t believe I fell for this for _so long,_ ” he mutters to himself. How could he have been so naïve? How could he have fallen for this when he’s been so damn careful about keeping himself safe throughout his whole life?

Sylvain reaches out for Felix’s hand, and their hands just barely brush against one another. Felix yanks his hand away, as if he’d been burned. “Felix, please. I don’t—I just…” Something in his expression shuts down briefly. “I—I don’t know what you want to hear from me,” he pleads, “but please, give me a chance to clear it all up.”

“Do you really think that I want to hear _anything_ from you?” Felix climbs out of Sylvain’s bed. He feels _dirty_ and _used_ , like a layer of grime is permanently clinging to his skin. He crosses his arms. “After all this bullshit?” 

Sylvain flounders for a response, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he manages to force out a reply. “Then what do you want from me?” he asks, trying to follow Felix out of bed. His expression and voice are still hurt, still pitiful.

Felix doesn’t care for it at all.

“Nothing, you sadistic, insatiable playboy.” Felix whirls around to glare at Sylvain. He jabs his index finger into Sylvain’s chest. “Take a fucking hint. I want nothing _from_ you, and I want nothing to _do_ with you. Find someone else to lie to.”

“Felix, _please_.”

 _Don’t say my name,_ Felix fumes internally, balling his trembling hands into fists. _You’ve lost that right after this—treating me like I’m some kind of shameful secret, some kind of last resort. I can’t believe you have the audacity to pretend like I haven’t noticed any of this_. Felix pulls his clothes on, checks his pockets for his phone and his wallet, and turns to Sylvain.

There’s a devastated look on his face. “Felix.” He sounds so tired, so defeated—but he doesn't dare say anything more.

And even though there’s nothing but anger igniting Felix’s chest, a part of him hates how small and sad Sylvain looks. A part of him wants to stay and make Sylvain put on that charming and stupid smile back on again, but the hurt and rage threatening to tear his chest apart drowns out that voice with ease.

Felix tears his gaze away from Sylvain and feels a snarl forming on his face. “You’re fucking _deplorable_ ,” he spits, relishing in the way that he can practically feel Sylvain’s eyes watching him intently, “and your greed will be the _end_ of your wretched, little life.”

Sylvain doesn’t speak again, but Felix doesn’t want to hear him lie and beg again anyway.

So he takes a deep, grounding breath.

And he leaves without looking back.

-

In the wake of the argument and the awkwardness that follows between Sylvain and Felix, Felix decides to leave Faerghus earlier than he planned to.

Being in his hometown again and seeing his friends and their joyous, successful lives was pleasant. Hell, meeting someone new and spending a few nights with them was nice too. But Felix can’t stand being in Faerghus, especially knowing that an infuriatingly handsome and infuriatingly selfish casanova lives just around the corner.

He’s still upset about that night. 

His blood boils at how foolish he was to be so blinded by a charming smile and a couple of sweet words—how he had been so trusting, towards an infamous man whose reputation literally preceded him. His hands tremble and ball themselves into tight fists at how Sylvain thought he could charm Felix into becoming one of his brainwashed, desperate fans—how he had admitted to being ‘in love’ with him so he could snatch Felix’s calloused heart and crush it beneath his foot with an innocent smile.

 _No, just forget about it now,_ Felix tells himself as he keys out a text to his friends with the news of his plan to return home early. _It’s over now. You don’t ever have to see him again._

Needless to say, his friends aren’t happy with him leaving so soon. 

They bombard him with questions and pleas for him to stay a while longer and spend some more time with them, but in the end, through persistence and the fact that he needs to get back to his cat, Felix manages to make his friends accept it without really questioning him further.

“Well, can we at least have one big, last hangout together?” comes Annette’s voice over the crackly and tinny speakers of his phone. “We’ll have a nice time together and take you to the airport to see you off!”

“I like that idea!” pipes up Ashe, his voice just barely audible over the sound of a few cats mewling and the sound of kibble pittering and pattering out of a bag and into plastic bowls. There’s a shuffling noise on the phone, and Felix can practically envision Ashe with his apron on, his phone pinned between his cheek and his shoulder as he pets his kittens. “Ah, but I’d love to know a date and a time in advance! Just so I can make a plan.”

“I’d like that too! I wouldn’t want to miss seeing Felix one last time just because of a scheduling conflict!” Mercedes chuckles warmly. “After all, what if we don't see you again until Ingrid and Dorothea’s wedding?”

Ingrid clicks her tongue. “That won’t happen. I won’t let it.” If Ingrid were in his hotel room, she’d be shooting daggers at him with her glare. “You better visit more often, Felix.”

“You better listen to my Ingrid because she means it, you know,” Dorothea coos. “But if you’re truly set on leaving, then how about having our get-together at Azure Wings again?”

Just as Felix opens his mouth to voice his consent, Bernadetta asks about the date, and he freezes in his tracks when everyone starts to claim that their best day would be a Saturday.

Saturday night at Azure Wings. Sylvain would be guaranteed to be there. 

And Felix can’t imagine anything that he’d want less.

He can practically feel the awkward tension between him and Sylvain while his friends try to pull him into karaoke and drinks again. He can only imagine how Sylvain would stare at him like he did on the first night that they met, low-lidded and sly, how he might try to get him back with his smooth-talking and flirty looks. 

Felix would be beside himself with anger. Anger is already starting bubble up in his body at the thought of Sylvain trying to play him _again._

His concerns of what could happen at that lounge run through his head like premonitions. 

Frustratingly, most of them end with him snapping and lashing out at Sylvain in front of his friends, exposing what had gone on between him for the past few months. And in the absolute worst case scenario, he can see himself falling for Sylvain’s wiles and getting himself trapped in another confusing cycle of emotions.

And in one interesting scenario, Felix sees Sylvain bringing someone new to the VIP lounge, already having moved on.

No, there’s nothing bad about that. Felix doesn’t care what Sylvain does anymore— _I’ve never cared in the first place_ , he corrects. He told Sylvain that he didn’t love him. It was an unspoken agreement that they were splitting permanently, right after Felix left Sylvain’s apartment. 

But still, the thought of Sylvain going back to flirting with his fans right after his and Felix’s disagreement had gotten into a fight, leaves Felix cold. 

It would only prove his point that he was replaceable in Sylvain’s eyes. It would prove that Sylvain never meant anything he said—Felix wasn’t important, wasn’t different, wasn’t someone he loved.

“What do you think, Felix? Do you think that works for you?” Bernadetta’s voice brings him back into the conversation. "You're the one we're organizing this for so..."

“No,” he bites out, and he has to remind himself that he’s not near Sylvain. At his friends’ surprised silence, sheepishness and embarrassment consume him as he tries to calm himself down. He knows they’re waiting for a reason, but he can hardly think of anything. “I’d... rather do something small,” he stammers out. “Just with us.”

“Well, the lounge at Azure Wings is kind of a small thing, right?” Annette waits a beat before adding, “I mean, it’d just be us and maybe Sylvain.”

Felix grimaces at the sound of his name. “No.” He looks around his hotel room, desperately trying to think of another thing to do, another place to go to. He even picks up one of those pamphlets that came with the hotel room, advertising some nearby restaurants, scanning the names for something interesting.

“What’s wrong with Azure Wings?” asks Dorothea innocently. She definitely knows what’s happening between Sylvain and Felix, but he doubts that Sylvain’s told her about their argument. She’s being provocative, trying to be friendly and playful, but Felix only feels vexed.

“I didn’t say there’s anything wrong with it, did I?” Felix huffs. “I just want to go somewhere different. Special.”

“Special? Oh, well, why didn’t you say so?” Mercedes hums. “I know plenty of places that I’m sure you’d just love!” 

“Oh, yay! That’s our Mercie!” Annette cheers. “Let’s hear it!”

Felix lets out a small sigh of relief as Mercedes starts listing alternatives to going to Azure Wings, like going to a restaurant themed around Fodlan’s medieval past and an outdoor movie theater playing some feature film. He’ll go to whatever—just as long as Sylvain isn’t there.

-

“Felix, you’re back.” Dedue nods at him in acknowledgment. “I saw your text. I have all of Zoltan’s belongings packed and ready to go. Do you need any help carrying them to your car?”

“I’m fine.”

Dedue holds his front door open, stepping aside with a small gesture with his head inviting Felix in. Felix steps into Dedue’s home, cozily and lovingly decorated in Duscur decor. Dedue leads him in, passing his large indoor garden before stopping at his living room, where Zoltan is yowling in his carrier cage beside a large cardboard box of cat food, toys, and his cat’s other necessities.

“Zoltan.” Felix crouches before his cat and sticks his fingers through the bars of the carrier. His cat meows and rubs his face against Felix’s fingers. “You better not have caused Dedue any trouble.”

“He was fine.” Dedue offers a small smile. “He’s very sweet.”

“Well. Thanks for looking after this little bastard.” Felix picks up the cat carrier carefully. He definitely won’t show it, but having Zoltan, well-cared for and happy, by his side again makes him giddy. It seems that Dedue had even gone through the trouble of brushing him for the day. “Means a lot,” he adds a little stiffly. “Really.”

 _Looks like I owe Dedue a favor now,_ he muses. 

Dedue seems to hear Felix’s sheepishness, but he seems to know what to make of it. “I’m glad to have been able to help. It was nice having him around anyway. He makes for good company.”

"I should get going." Felix stands and looks down at the large box of Zoltan’s belongings. Has his cat always been so spoiled? And how had he brought this in before? Had he done it alone? The large dent on the side of the box says otherwise—that damn boar and his strength… 

He could always come back for another trip, but what a waste of time. He could put Zoltan’s cage in the box with his belongings, but just one errant step, one clumsy tumble, and—

Felix grimaces and turns his gaze up towards Dedue. “Actually, I might need help carrying this back.”

“Yes, I figured as much.”

-

“Dimitri. Thanks. For helping me.” Felix hesitates. “Going back to Faerghus was… nice.” 

Speaking with Dimitri has never been particularly easy. He feels like he's talking to an estranged family member, both of them tiptoeing around certain topics and phrases. Even now, it's awkward and tense, and he can feel that misplaced anger from years and years ago starting to flare up, leaving him antsy during this phone call. 

“I’m just glad you got to take a break,” Dimitri tells him, very audibly happy, wisely choosing not to make any remarks about Felix not calling him names like _boar_ , just in case Felix exasperatedly and spitefully decides to call him one. “Ingrid and I have been telling you that it’s okay to rest sometimes. Being a workaholic isn’t any good.”

 _If I’m a workaholic,_ Felix muses, _then what the hell are you?_

Instead, he hums noncommittally, similar to the way that he tended to when his father would lecture him about who knows what. He thanks Dimitri again, though he knows that his words would never do his gratitude and guilt any justice, and fills Dimitri in with their friends back at home. 

After hearing about what their friends were up to, Dimitri gives a small chuckle. “I’m glad that they’re doing fine. I ought to visit them too, I think. It’s been far too long since I’ve been home.” 

“If you can afford to send me there, go yourself." _Value yourself above others, for once in your damn life already,_ Felix wants to say. _For the Goddess' sake, for yours, for_ mine. He manages to keep his mouth shut.

Dimitri laughs again. “Maybe I will. Things have been going pretty well for the company lately so I figure that there isn't any better time to go. I still have yet to meet Ingrid's betrothed in person."

 _Who the hell says 'betrothed' in this day and age?_ Felix furrows his brows, but he doesn't cut off Dimitri's prattling, distantly listening to him talk about the time that he met Dorothea over a video call. _When will Dedue teach you to stop talking like you're three times your age?_

Dimitri pauses abruptly in his anecdote and interrupts himself. “Oh! Felix! Speaking of Ingrid and Dorothea!" Felix, intrigue piqued, sits up and tunes in as Dimitri happily continues. "I'd heard from them that while you were in Faerghus, you met my good friend, Sylv—”

Felix hangs up.

-

Not long after he arrives from Faerghus, he starts to get his bearings. His jetlag wears off, his internal clock eventually resets, and he’s ready to take on the monotony of his regular life again.

Except, not really.

The transition from Felix’s vacation in Faerghus to his regular schedule of his hectic part-time jobs is rough. It’s not just jarring and painful and tiring; it's damn near hellish. He gets up early so he can get to work on time, and he can't allot himself much time to himself. His schedule is packed and rigid.

Wake up, tend to Zoltan, go to work. Come home, tend to Zoltan, go to bed at some ungodly hour. Rinse and repeat.

His life revolves around taking care of Zoltan—feeding him, brushing him, cleaning out his litter box, washing his toys and his bed and his bowls—and going to all of his jobs to make a steady income, leaving him exhausted to the bone. He hardly has time for himself, nevertheless his friends, but it’s what he’s used to.

...He's lonely.

Not any kind of lonely. That kind of lonely that pierces deep into your heart and leaves you seeking the warmth of your friends. That kind of lonely where something in your life just feels missing and horribly wrong.

What’s strange about this is that he’s used to being alone. He’s never really felt lonely or in need of direct companionship. Having friends is nice, but he doesn’t need to be constantly hanging around them like others might.

If anything, he’s actively sought to be alone. It meant that he could focus more on what meant most to him—and it limited how vulnerable he was to others. He wouldn’t have to worry about others getting hurt or hurting him. He’s a lone wolf by nature, looking to pave his own path in the world.

Plus, he knows it’s to be expected since he was just surrounded by his friends just about every day back in Faerghus, getting food and drinks and seeing their happy faces, and now he’s back to being isolated at his miserable hovel, but he still feels awful. 

That terrifying feeling of loneliness, like a shadowy monster dragging him into the depth of depression, drives him to text and call his friends more often. Just hearing Annette’s bubbly laughter and Ashe’s bad puns, or even hearing Ingrid and Dorothea bickering and flirting over the phone, is enough to ward off the feeling of loneliness, just for a bit—but it always returns.

Something _still_ seems wrong. Something _still_ seems _off_. Why does he feel like something’s not right?

-

It takes him a while to figure out what he feels like is missing. 

It starts small. 

First, he catches himself looking down at his phone, flipping through his text messages. He’ll breeze through conversations he’s had with Ingrid or the pictures Ashe sends him of the cats at his business, but his eyes will always linger on a certain name—Sylvain. 

At first, he gets angry at the very sight of his name. Flashes of their last night together run through his head, reminding him of what bullshit Sylvain had tried to pull.

He turns his screen off and tosses his phone aside with the thought, _I should just delete his number off my phone already._

But slowly, as time goes by, Felix finds himself drawn to his and Sylvain’s messages. He isn’t sure what’s compelling him to, though he is putting his money on a twisted sense of curiosity, but eventually, he gives in and reads through their chatlog. 

Their messages were brief, often about when they’d next meet up, but there were times where Sylvain would attempt to hold actual conversations with him. They weren’t about anything deep by any means— _so, do you watch any shows?_ —but they were still… kind of pleasant in a way.

(Felix’s chest kind of aches at how he could practically hear Sylvain’s voice purring through suggestive texts. He can see Sylvain laughing at his own witty comments, at Felix's dry replies. 

He probably shouldn’t be reading through these texts. They leave him feeling weird—angry, with a strange touch of sadness. His chest pangs with a dull pain.

He doesn’t want to think about it.)

Then, it starts to get stronger, more invasive.

On Saturdays, Felix has vivid thoughts of what he would have been doing in Faerghus, daydreaming about Ingrid’s bar and, unfortunately, Sylvain.

He finds himself remembering every soft brush of Sylvain’s skin against his, the taste of Sylvain’s beer on his tongue, the smell of his bergamot-based cologne. He imagines Sylvain up on stage, lit up by cool, blue lights with his eyes half-lidded and well-framed by his long lashes as he sings.

Every little smile, every wink, every look Sylvain had given him—it all lingers in his mind and haunts him.

 _What are you doing right now?_ Felix wonders. _Are you with some girl? Have you forgotten me already? Was I ever as important to you as you said I was?_

(He _really_ shouldn’t be having these thoughts or thinking about him. He absolutely does _not_ care about Sylvain, especially all that Sylvain had done and what he was planning to do. 

But these thoughts leave him feeling _weird_ about Sylvain—less angry and more confused. His chest aches.

No, he _really_ doesn’t want to think about it.)

-

As the days roll by, each day the same as the last, Felix finds himself thinking more and more about Sylvain, typically as he lies in bed at night.

Staring up at the ceiling of his darkened room, Felix will recount his memories of Sylvain as an odd wave of bittersweetness surges through him before he falls sleep.

It's pretty bad. He knows it’s bad. He doesn’t _want_ to think about Sylvain. He just wants to move on from that incident and get on with his life already, but his head just won’t stop making him think about Sylvain, often leaving him confused and angry and, oddly enough, sad.

But there’s just a small part of him that keeps reminding him about all these small things about Sylvain. All of his different smiles—the one for fans, the one for his friends, the one that he wears when he sees Felix, the one for when he thinks that Felix isn’t looking at him. All of his different laughs—when he’s being polite, when he finds something amusing, when he playfully says something that Felix finds infuriating.

He remembers how gentle Sylvain had been with him, his feather-light touches and warm smiles and caresses. He knows that it’s just Sylvain trying to get him to fall for that spell he puts all his fans under, especially seeing how he had treated Felix around other people.

But then he remembers their argument, on the last night that they’d been together—when Sylvain had confessed his love for him.

Sylvain had been so shocked, so devastated, as if he genuinely couldn’t believe that Felix didn’t understand his feelings. He had been so insistent that he was in love, so insistent that he didn’t get why Felix was upset. He looked crushed.

Felix doesn’t understand that reaction quite as well, in retrospect. If Sylvain knew that Felix wasn’t interested in being one of those desperate hearts he strings along, then wouldn’t Sylvain know to back off? Wouldn’t he know how stubborn Felix is and stop trying? 

From what Felix had seen, Sylvain’s smart—not just academically or musically. He knows when to leave people alone, when to pursue them, when to say what, and so on. 

So why was he so insistent on trying to convince Felix that he “loved” him?

Could it be that he was serious?

Felix sits up in bed, quick to throw that idea out. _No, no, no. Absolutely not. There’s no way that he was being serious about loving me._

But the more he thinks about it, the more plausible it seems. Despite Sylvain’s flirting with others, Ingrid and Dorothea did express some confusion at how he was going about this, and Sylvain did seem quite upset by Felix’s outburst.

Perhaps Sylvain was serious about wanting to pursue a relationship.

Felix gives a grunt of frustration and throws his sheets off himself. Now buried under his sheets, his cat groggily protests with a meow and fights his way out of the blanket. Zoltan eventually pulls himself out of the mess of blankets and sits atop them, staring at Felix.

“Yeah? So what if he liked me?” Felix says aloud to no one in particular, though Zoltan does watch him intently like they’re both having a serious conversation. Fuck it—Felix is talking to Zoltan, then. “It’s not that I liked him back. He was just a fling. The only thing I would say that I like about him is maybe his voice.”

He waits a beat. Zoltan's green eyes bore into Felix. Felix huffs. “Okay, and maybe his face,” he grumbles.

Another pause. Another judgment look.

“His hair was nice too, I guess. And he’s pretty good at singing. And I guess he was pretty nice when he wasn’t being a skirt-chasing idiot.” Before he can say anything else that would further embarrass himself— _is he seriously talking to a cat?_ —Felix stops talking. But that doesn’t mean that he stops thinking about Sylvain.

Zoltan blinks slowly at him.

Felix points his finger at Zoltan, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.” He sighs and crosses his arms. 

Why does he even care about Sylvain? Why does he care about what Sylvain’s doing or how his words affected him or what he looks like or how he smells _nice_ and how he sings so _sweetly_ —

Felix grimaces and gets out of bed. He can’t sleep with his thoughts drifting to weird places like this.

Maybe if he tires himself out, he’ll just go to bed already. Felix starts to pace around in his room, Zoltan’s eyes curiously following him to and fro, but thoughts of Sylvain inevitably come back to haunt him.

 _I don’t care! I don’t care about him!_ Felix wants to scream at his brain. _I don’t care that he’s across the country, busy being pretty and sounding like_ that _for all his fans. I don’t care that he’s probably making out with some girl or that he doesn’t need me anymore or that he loved me or that I fucking missed my chance_ —

His thoughts halt. His feet bring his pacing to a stop, landing him right in front of his dresser. 

_My chance?_ Felix stares at his shocked reflection in the mirror attached to his dresser. _I missed my chance? For what?_

And then, it finally, _finally_ hits him. 

The reason that Felix is bothered with all of this—he’s lonely and sad and angry—is because he had been in love with Sylvain this whole time.

 _No, that can’t be possible,_ Felix immediately wants to say, averting his gaze from his reflection, but he gives this idea some thought.

When they had been seeing each other—and Felix uses this phrase very loosely—Felix had paid a good amount of attention to Sylvain, more than he’d like to admit. He paid attention to what he said and did and how he looked and how he sounded. He paid attention to every one of Sylvain’s mannerisms and anecdotes, his voice and his looks and his every movement.

And he can’t stop thinking about Sylvain, even now. He can’t stop wondering what Sylvain’s doing or how he is, and he can’t help that odd emptiness in his chest without Sylvain around or when he feels a burning feeling of _bitterness_ and _anger_ at the thought of Sylvain having already replaced him without a second thought.

So maybe Felix really had liked Sylvain more than he let on. And he turned Sylvain down.

In Felix’s defense, it had been done out of self-preservation. 

It had been done out of the fear that he would get cast aside when Sylvain was bored of him. It had been done knowing that Sylvain had repeatedly left his lovers with broken hearts and regret. It had been done knowing that if Felix, for one in his life, bore his heart for Sylvain and Sylvain dropped him, Felix would never be able to recover.

 _But what if Sylvain was being serious?_ Felix muses. _What if he genuinely liked me and only me? What if he wanted to turn over a new leaf, stop sleeping around, and be with just me?_ Felix grimaces. _Then I really missed my chance._

It’s then that Glenn’s words oddly come back to haunt him. “What is rare rarely lasts forever,” he had said. It’s then that Felix starts to put a better meaning to that phrase. 

Rare things typically don’t last forever—and what is rare, is Felix being genuinely happy and in love with someone.

It felt that Felix could only have one of the two. 

If he was happy, he was alone, doing what he found comfortable and doing what he could to better himself. If he was in love, he wasn’t happy, constantly battling the feeling that he’s being too open and that he leaves himself open to getting hurt.

Felix growls, musses his hair, and droops as he pulls away from his dresser. He’s tired of this. He’s tired of having so many emotions wreck him and busy his brain. He’s just going to go to bed and forget about Sylvain.

Because what can he do at this point? He already told Sylvain that he’s not interested, and he’s already so many miles away.

But even as he tries to forget about Sylvain and move on, feelings of guilt and hurt, frustration and _yearning,_ eat away at him day by day until he just can’t take it anymore. He can’t think about anything other than Sylvain; he can’t dream of anything other than Sylvain’s soft caresses—and that damned hurt expression he wore that day when they argued.

It hurts a lot more than he'd like to admit.

-

Roughly about a month and a half after he’d left Faerghus, Felix is still being haunted by thoughts of Sylvain. They confuse him and infuriate him and leave him feeling terrible.

 _This is exactly what I was supposed to be avoiding when I told him no_ , Felix bitter reflects. _How did I end up like this?_

Sleepless, fitful nights and tiring, tedious days drift past, but nothing seems to be getting better. He isn’t forgetting Sylvain, their time together, or his feelings. He's just stewing in his emotions and feeling progressively worse. He doesn’t think that he can fix this issue on his own, seeing how he’s struggling to keep himself focused on anything that _isn’t_ Sylvain.

So he reaches out to Ingrid. 

Felix lets Ingrid know that he wants to talk about something serious. All jokes aside—you _of all people want to talk about your problems,_ Ingrid had asked, half-joking and half-genuinely—Ingrid gladly agrees to hear him out and reads his concerns over text before calling him to talk about the issues. Felix, though he thoroughly hates the idea of having to express his concerns through words, finds a little comfort in the fact that he doesn’t have to see Ingrid’s face and accepts.

By the end of his explanation, Ingrid is stunned silent.

“I’m not sure what to say,” Ingrid starts slowly. “I’ve never really heard this kind of problem from you before. At all.”

Felix sighs. Was calling up Ingrid even a good idea if he was just going to get teased like this?

“I’m not trying to make fun of you,” Ingrid tells him, like she can read his mind. Ingrid has never been one to lie to him, to mask her real thoughts or feelings; Felix relaxes, knowing that she’s being honest. “I’m just—it’s a pretty difficult situation to be in, and I just want you to know that I’m glad you reached out to me instead of bottling it all up like...” She trails off.

“Like?” Felix prompts.

“Never mind.” Ingrid heaves a long-suffering sigh. “You know, this does kind of explain why Sylvain’s been acting so weird though.”

Felix frowns. He supposes that it would make sense that Sylvain’s struggling with this, especially if his own speculations that Sylvain was trying to be honest are right. Yet, he’s curious as to how Sylvain is doing.“What do you mean?”

“Well, lately, he’s just been acting _off._ He comes in to work, looking like a mess, and he hardly ever stays like he used to. He used to stick around, have a few drinks with me and Dorothea or talk to his fans, but now he goes straight home. Doesn’t say anything to the fans, doesn’t have a drink on the house—he just leaves.” Ingrid pauses. “And his performances have been a bit lackluster too. We actually had to cut them short by a bit because he told us he didn’t think he could fill out his timeslot.”

Felix’s gaze anxiously flits around his cramped apartment as he tries to make sense of Ingrid’s words. “Has he said anything about why he’s acting like that to you?”

“Kind of. He was pretty vague about it—he only said stuff about how he’s going through something—but Dorothea told me that you and him had a thing going on for a while so I just connected the dots.” Ingrid pauses. “But if you’re upset about this, why not confront him? I can give you his number.”

Felix glues his gaze to the ground. And with a grimace, he mumbles out, “I have his number.” Oh, the sheer number of times he’d looked at Sylvain’s number with his finger hovering over the call button. Oh, the sheer number of times that he'd keyed out a text and deleted it just as he was about to send it.

Ingrid sighs. He can see her rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Then why in the world are you calling me? You can just call him and get this all figured out.”

“It’s not that easy. I don’t know what to say to him.”

Ingrid hums quietly. “I think you do.” Her voice is soft, understanding. “You’ve been telling me about how you want to change things with him, right? Then why not go from there?”

Felix humors this thought.

He imagines all the ways this could go wrong—getting ghosted, getting into another fight, getting told that Sylvain isn’t looking for a relationship anymore. He imagines getting hung up on, blocked, cut off. He imagines hearing Sylvain’s carefree and happy voice, even though on the other side of the line, Sylvain is anything but.

No, that’s unacceptable. Felix has to do this in person. Knowing Sylvain, he’ll try to lie and minimize his own pain; he’ll try to make Felix feel better rather than focus on himself. He’ll hide his own sorrows, even if it means lying through his teeth. If Felix wants Sylvain to be genuine with him and to give him a shot again, he needs to do it face-to-face.

“I don’t think that’ll work.”

“Then, what do you suppose you should do?” Ingrid asks. “It’s not like you can just fly over here again.”

Her comment is clearly flippant, but Felix can’t help but to wonder if he should visit Faerghus. Of course Felix knows that another trip to Faerghus isn’t particularly realistic with how his life is right now, but he doesn’t want to keep living like this—a life of regret and guilt, a life knowing that he hurt someone that he actually really loves. He just wants to make things right. 

“Felix? Are you still there?”

Felix, already starting to do some mental math with his budget, tightens his grip on his phone. “I’m coming back to Faerghus.”

“What?” Ingrid’s tone goes flat, then her voice is filled with disbelief. “Felix! What the hell are you thinking? You can’t afford another ticket here and back. Do you even have time for that kind of trip?”

“I have to fix things. So I’ll find a way.” 

“Felix…” A silence fills the call before Ingrid gives a small sigh. “Give me a second.” There’s the sound of shuffling on Ingrid’s side of the call, and Felix briefly hears Ingrid calling out to Dorothea. They have a conversation of some sort, their words indecipherable but their voices clear as day.

After a bit, Ingrid returns to the call with a heavy sigh. “I have an idea.”

-

Coming back to Faerghus feels rather odd, given the circumstances. The first time around, Felix had been nostalgic to be home, excited to be with his friends again. Now, he’s just anxious with his one-track mind set on trying to fix things between him and Sylvain.

Ingrid and Dorothea had both been kind enough to let him stay at their house—Felix hadn’t been happy to be so dependent on them, wasting their resources, but after so much arguing, especially with Ingrid and Dorothea on the same side against him, he ended up caving and accepting their offer with reluctance but great gratitude. He thanks them and does his best to stay out of their way and ask as little of them as he possibly can, even if they both insist on having him act less stiff.

Dorothea applauds his efforts, telling him that even if it was a serious financial mistake, she could respect the lengths he was willing to go to in order to speak with “the man of his dreams.” Meanwhile, Ingrid, greatly exasperated with the stubbornness of both Felix and Sylvain, just asks Felix to hurry and right things already.

Felix asked them not to let Sylvain know that he was coming, and they agreed easily enough.

Come the following Saturday, Felix is seated in Azure Wings, near the spot that he usually sat at. He turns down Dorothea’s offers for drinks, instead accepting a glass of water. She brings him a glass of water and gently pets his shoulder.

He’s expecting to hear some sort of cheesy pep talk, reassuring him that Sylvain is fine and that he and Sylvain will be able to figure all of their issues out without so much as a hitch in their lives. He’s expecting some sort of teasing about his efforts to get Sylvain back, the kind that makes Felix burn with embarrassment and exasperation.

He gets a worried look instead.

Before he can ask her about it, Dorothea gestures to the stage and quietly leaves.

There, upon the stage, Sylvain is there, seated at a piano. And Felix immediately understands why Ingrid called him a mess.

He has changed quite drastically since the last time he had seen Felix. Even from where Felix is sitting, he can tell that Sylvain simply looks tired—his hair isn’t done up as immaculately as it usually is, his clothes are rather casual and rumpled unlike how nice and pristine his outfits were before, and his posture no longer exudes an energy that commands attention. 

Sylvain looks like he wants to fade away into the backdrop, like if the spotlight moves off him for even a second, he’ll disappear into thin air.

“Hello, everyone,” Sylvain murmurs into the mic. The chatter in the bar dies down a little. “I hope you’re all doing well tonight.” He flashes his regular smile towards the crowd, but his gaze seems to go past everyone—like he’s looking at the clock fastened to the wall just above the exit. “I’m Sylvain Jose Gautier, and today, I’ll be performing a song that I wrote.”

Sylvain nods at the drummer and the bassist before he begins to perform. The drummer gives him a full measure of steady beats, leading him in.

“Well, I know

What is rare only rarely lasts forever

And there’s no place like home

Like this place that we’ve found together”

The first thing that Felix notices is that Sylvain’s voice is remarkably different from what Felix remembers. His voice is low, soft, and hardly audible, like a wisp of notes passing by, rather than energetic, proud, and smooth, full of sound and even personality.

If Sylvain were just a few inches farther away from the microphone, his voice would be drowned out by the melancholic chords, the soft drumming, or even the mellow, plucked notes of the bass.

The second thing that Felix notices is that quote that Sylvain had used.

“What is rare only rarely lasts forever.”

He recognizes that quote, something said by his older brother in passing. He recognizes that quote so starkly, having clung to it for years and years, waiting for an explanation that would never come. He recognizes that quote so clearly because he’s been able to figure out what it means to him.

And now, Sylvain is using that very quote too, in a song he wrote with his own feelings.

“And so it is

So I won’t resist

We’ll only miss violets ‘till the roses grow

“Well, I dare not defy

This world that comes and goes

But I’d rather you stay”

Sylvain sounds just a touch choked up here, his last note trembling just a touch before he resumes singing. It might be vibrato to anyone else, but Felix knows Sylvain’s singing.

That isn’t what his vibrato sounds like.

“And these words couldn’t hold

Who you are or what you mean to me

For the moment I know

There’s nothing quite like you to me

"So be free, but be mine

And with time, I’ve come to find

My greed just might be the end of me

How lovely you are”

Felix shudders where he hears Sylvain mention his greed. Those were the words he had said to Sylvain at the very end of their argument. Had Sylvain been holding onto them, just as Felix had? Had they been haunting him too?

"Well I know what remains

And I’ve wondered this forever

If the truth stays the same

Let’s be true, you and I”

As Sylvain holds out his very last note, the drum and the bass slowly fade out. His eyebrows are drawn in together, his eyes clenched shut as he sings. His wispy, raspy voice wavers and wobbles, like a flame in the wind—bound to go out any second now.

Felix reflects briefly on what he can remember of Sylvain’s lyrics as Sylvain thanks the cheering crowd and prepares to climb off the stage. Felix reflects the phrases that Sylvain used—reflects on the lyric about _greed_ and _rarity—_ and he reflects on how Sylvain used to describe his potential lover— _different_ and _lovely_ and _home._

It’s not hard to see that the song is about Felix.

Grimacing, Felix pushes aside any doubt that had been haunting his brain, and he stands to make his way towards the side of the stage, where Sylvain is slowly coming down the stairs. Sylvain smiles at his fans as he excuses himself from them. Just as Sylvain politely makes his way past a fan gushing about how lovely he sounded, Felix steps in front of him and stands there, his hands tucked in his pockets.

Sylvain nearly bumps into him, but he manages to pull himself to a stop before him. For a split second, there’s confusion on his face, his brows furrowed. Then, Sylvain looks up from the ground, where his gaze is aimed, and sees Felix.

(Up close, he looks even more tired than he did up on the stage. He has dark circles under his eyes, and he just looks _so damn tired._ )

In that split second of recognition, surprise flashes onto his face, his eyes slowly widening before a sad look settles in them. 

Before Felix knows it, Sylvain’s putting on the same, fake smile he was giving his fans.

“Oh! Felix, is that you?” Sylvain chuckles, throwing his arms out as if he were greeting an old friend. He doesn’t dare lean in for an embrace; Felix doesn’t expect him to. “I’m flattered that you came back to see me. Did you miss me _that_ much?”

Felix frowns. It makes him feel way too open to say it, but he knows why he’s here. He takes in a breath and locks his gaze on Sylvain. “Yes.” It’s quieter than he’d like, just barely audible over the sounds of the bar, but he managed to say it nonetheless.

Sylvain blinks, blatant shock written all over his face. And then he laughs again. “Wow, I thought that the flirty thing was _my_ thing. Taking a page out of my book, huh?” He grins. “I don’t think I mind very much though.” A wink, which Felix promptly chooses to ignore. 

His heart sinks like a rock in his chest, but he doesn't let it faze him. “Sylvain.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to spend tonight with you. I’m a bit busy.” Sylvain starts to back away. “Maybe next week? Same time, and same place—you know how it is. Keep your schedule open, and we’ll see.” His smile wavers. 

“ _Sylvain.”_ Felix stops him from leaving, grabbing his wrist. “That’s not why I’m here. I need to talk to you.” He furrows his eyebrows. “Please.”

Sylvain reaches up and rests a hand on the back of his neck. His smile drops a little, and a subtle pang of pain jolts through his expression, but he’s quick to put the polite smile back on, as if he’s trying to reassure Felix of something. “Alright. You know I can always make time for you.”

(Felix aches hearing these words now, knowing that when he had first said them to Felix, they were tinged with love and genuine interest; it seems that Sylvain is only saying this now in a lazy effort to seem charming, to seem normal. All the times that Sylvain had said this, he had probably meant it genuinely, every single time.)

Felix takes Sylvain by the wrist and pulls him away from the crowd, from the rest of the bar. He takes him into the VIP lounge and lets him go hesitantly, as if Sylvain will disappear if Felix isn’t holding onto him. There’s a thick pause, as if the world isn’t sure what to make of this moment. Sylvain mulls about, his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the ceiling and then down at the ground.

As he looks anywhere but at Felix.

All those lonely nights and all those lonely days, dreamless and sleepless, when Felix could only think about Sylvain and how much he wanted to make things right again, run through his head. Felix can’t leave Sylvain without talking this through. He won’t let it happen—he won’t let his stubbornness or his cynicism or his fears get in the way again.

He wants to be honest with himself; he wants to be true. Even if it means putting himself out there with his heart on his sleeve, something that he hasn’t done since he was young, he wants to tell Sylvain what he really thinks. 

“Sylvain.” Sylvain’s honey-brown eyes slowly drift down and meet Felix’s tawny eyes. Shame courses through him when he realizes that he relishes Sylvain’s lovely gaze on him once again. 

But where should he start? What would sound believable? What would make Sylvain think that he’s being serious? What would make him sound like he isn’t just here to beg for another one-night stand?

“About that night,” Felix starts, but he hesitates. He only continues when he sees that Sylvain is watching him quite intently, curiously. “I want to talk about what happened.”

To Felix’s surprise and mild frustration, Sylvain only chuckles. “Did Ingrid put you up to this?” he asks with a small smile, a smile tinged with bitterness. Felix’s heart sinks in his chest. Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, geez. Maybe she’s pissed since I’ve been slacking at work.” He chuckles again. “I guess I’ll get my act together then—but if it means I get to see you…” He lowers his lids.

Felix tenses and sets his jaw. Sylvain’s trying to lead the conversation in a very different way. He isn’t subtle—at least, not to Felix. “Sylvain, stop that.”

“Stop what?” Sylvain raises his eyebrows innocently.

“You know what exactly I’m talking about.” Felix locks his gaze on Sylvain’s. He sighs and tries to move past it, though he knows that his words may just fall on deaf ears. “Never mind that. I came here to say something important to you.”

Sylvain smiles and cocks his head a little. “Go ahead, sweetheart.” That coy, flirty smile finds its way onto Sylvain’s face. “But _everything_ you say is important to me.”

Ire, like a flame, ignites in his chest. “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me.” Felix clenches his fists. “I’m being serious. You don’t get it, do you?”

Sylvain’s smile fades away just as quickly as it came along. “Get what? That you’re only here to get in my pants?” His expression twists with a mix of emotions, but Felix can clearly see frustration and even a hint of sadness.

“That’s _not_ why I’m here.”

“I don’t want you to lie to me, Felix.” He breaks their gaze. “Not you,” he says, his voice small. “Anyone but you.” 

Somehow, Felix feels like he wasn’t supposed to hear that last part, but he did. It hurts to hear that, to see him so _small._

Felix sighs. This isn’t going as well as he wanted it to, but he supposes that it would have been too idealistic of him to think that Sylvain would have been perfectly fine after getting rejected so harshly—after _finally_ , for once, showing his true emotions towards Felix.

Felix decides to try a different approach. 

“When you told me that you loved me, Sylvain, I didn’t believe you. At all.”

Something hurt flickers in Sylvain’s eyes, but he doesn’t react otherwise.

“You were giving me these stupid mixed signals. You’d treat me like I barely existed when we were near your fans and say that we’re just friends, but then you’d turn around the same night and treat me like I meant the world to you when we were alone. You were being so… so _frustrating._ ” Felix runs his hands down his face, like it would wipe all his problems away. Narrowing his eyes at Sylvain, he huffs. “Of course I’d turn you down. With your reputation and the way you were acting—only an absolute idiot would trust you. How the hell could I _possibly_ believe you?”

Sylvain sighs and runs a hand through his hair. As if by magic, all traces of Sylvain’s flirty demeanor seem to slowly fade away, leaving him looking tired, somber. He opens his mouth to say something, but he quickly changes his mind, clamping his mouth shut and averting his gaze with his eyebrows furrowed.

Felix exhales, and with that breath, his anger ebbs out of him, leaving him tired. “I had no idea what you were thinking or what you wanted from me. I just felt that whatever it was, it wouldn’t end well for me.”

“I…” Sylvain glances up at Felix briefly before looking away. “I know. At least, I know _now._ And I’m sorry.” He cringes a little at himself. “I wasn’t thinking right then, and I was treating you like shit.” At Felix’s curious look, Sylvain continues sheepishly, “I was trying so hard to talk myself out of being in love with you—but it didn’t work.”

Felix frowns. “Why?” 

Sylvain hesitates. He shuffles his feet. He glues his gaze to the ground. Time stalls, dragging its feet as Sylvain avoids looking at Felix.

Then Sylvain simply says, “I was scared.”

“Scared?” Felix echoes. 

“I’ve never really felt like this for anyone before.” Sylvain smiles wryly. “I can fake being in love with someone just fine, but it’s not the same as the real thing, y’know? Actually being in love is scary—no, it’s fucking _terrifying._ I didn’t want to be in love with you or anyone, really. I mean, I don’t know what you’ll do to my heart, to _me_.” Felix doesn’t miss the way that Sylvain’s smile wavers the slightest bit. “I don’t know how you’ll hurt me.”

Sylvain’s words resonate with Felix. Amidst all the confusion and frustration of that night, Felix had been scared himself too. 

“But I’m sorry for being so hot and cold. I really am. It wasn’t because I didn’t like you or because I was trying to lead you on or because I wanted to hurt you—or anything like that. I was just scared.”

“I see.” Felix averts his gaze. “Well, I’m sorry too. I’d said some things that were…” He grimaces. “Horrible.”

Briefly, he recalls all the things he had said, like how he’d accused Sylvain of lying to him and how he’d called him _sadistic_ and _insatiable_ and _deplorable._ He recalls that song that Sylvain had sung. It leaves him frustrated with himself again.

“Well, I won’t say that it didn’t hurt,” Sylvain says, but he puts on a small smile and shrugs, “but it definitely isn’t the worst that I’ve heard or anything so don’t worry about it.”

It doesn’t make Felix feel much better, especially considering that Sylvain had chosen to use some of his words in that heartfelt song earlier. Felix frowns at him, but Sylvain doesn’t seem interested in pursuing this argument so Felix drops it.

“So was that all?” Sylvain sounds careful, unsure. “Were you just looking to clear that whole thing up?” He flashes Felix a quick smile. “You didn’t have to fly out here for that, you know. A phone call or a text would have sufficed.”

“No, that’s not it.” Felix’s heart is starting to beat faster. He doesn’t want Sylvain to leave. He doesn’t want to lose this opportunity to speak genuinely with him. If he doesn’t resolve all of this tonight, who knows what will become of them?

“Oh?” Sylvain cocks his head.

Felix takes in a small breath, steadies himself. He looks up at Sylvain, meeting his eyes, and he throws all caution to the wind.

“Sylvain, how do you feel about me now? Be honest.”

Sylvain’s eyes widen. He looks over Felix, like he’s looking for a visual cue to help him understand Felix’s feelings. Felix remains as composed as possible, though with Sylvain so intently watching him, he’s having a little bit of trouble keeping the slight flush off his face and calming his unruly heartbeat.

Everything is still and tense, frozen in time. All the sounds of the bar fade into the background; all the furniture and colors of the VIP lounge blend together. 

The world is holding its breath, waiting for Sylvain's response. 

Finally, Sylvain speaks, sounding wary. “This might sound kind of pathetic,” he says slowly, “but my feelings are the same as they were before. I haven’t been able to let go of my feelings for you. Even after you left, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He pointedly does not look at Felix, staring down at the ground instead. He looks ashamed. “I still love you.”

Felix stares at him. Relief fills his chest, filling him until he feels like he's going to burst with emotion. There’s still a chance for him to tell Sylvain how he truly feels; there’s still a chance for him and Sylvain to try and give this a chance. Now, it’s just a matter of convincing Sylvain that he’s being honest.

Sylvain shifts uncomfortably at Felix’s sustained silence. He clears his throat and chuckles, a self-deprecating sound. “Sad, right? Sorry. It probably makes you uncomfortable, but don’t worry. I’m not going to try anything. Promise.”

That shakes Felix out of his thoughts.

“So you’re serious?” It can never hurt to be sure. “You’re actually serious?”

Sylvain winces. “Yes.” His gaze remains grounded. “I mean it. I can’t think of anyone else I want more than I want you.”

Felix has no doubts about it. Sylvain was, and still is serious, about wanting to take their relationship seriously. It’s relieving, pleasing, _nice_ to hear Sylvain being so honest. 

Even though the thought of putting himself out there with a love confession sounds crazy and feels still a little scary, every bone in his body is urging him to make his move, to tell Sylvain how he feels. It's only right.

“Then,” Felix says slowly, with his traitorous and thunderous heart thumping harder and harder, “do you want to…” He trails off until Sylvain flicks his gaze up at him. “Do you want to try giving us a chance?”

“Do I want to try _what_?” Sylvain gawks at him. And immediately, a conflicted look crosses his face. “Don’t pity me. I don’t want that.” A firm frown finds its way onto Sylvain’s face. “I told you already, Felix. I don’t want you to lie to me.”

Felix crosses his arms. “I’m not pitying you, and I’m not lying to you. I mean it.” Felix sighs. “After I left Faerghus, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. It drove me crazy.” His face starts to burn with embarrassment. “And I figured out that it was because I did love you back.” 

Sylvain stares, shocked.

“I was just scared. Like you were. Because I didn’t know what you were planning or why you asked so suddenly or anything. I was just scared, but now I know.” Felix huffs. “Why do you think I bothered coming all the way back here? Do I _look_ like I’m made of money and time?”

Sylvain’s tries to mask his surprise, frowning as he offers a weak shrug. “W-well, I don’t know. I-I just thought you were looking for some kind of closure or something,” he mumbles.

 _Oh, I’m looking for closure, all right,_ Felix thinks. _But probably not the kind your cynical ass is thinking of._

“So?” Felix prompts. His heart is stuttering in his chest, feeling like a stampede is making its way through his heart. 

“You’re serious?” Sylvain winces. “Don’t get me wrong,” he quickly adds. “I would love to, but you really want to go through the trouble of dating me? Even though I treated you like _that?”_

Felix isn’t deterred, isn’t worried. “Sylvain, you said it yourself. You were only acting like that out of denial. You were scared.” He pauses. “And if you still really love me, you wouldn’t act the same as you did then since you’d have your act together this time around.”

“I guess you’re right,” Sylvain agrees.

A pause blooms between them, but rather than feel anxious about what Sylvain’s planning to think, Felix feels strangely calm, confident, content. After all, he can practically see thoughts pass through Sylvain's head. Sylvain’s face shifts slightly as he grapples with what’s going on; a frown for Sylvain’s conflict and confusion, a small, growing smile for his hope and happiness.

“So?” Felix flicks his gaze up at Sylvain’s face. “Do you want to or not? Don’t waste my time.” He huffs as his cheeks heat up.

Sylvain blinks, and his lips curve into a small smile, an infectious one that leaves Felix fighting back his own little smile. Wearing that brilliant smile, it doesn’t matter if his hair is messy or if his eyes are tired—he still looks stunning, bathing in the light of the lounge. He leaves Felix breathless, just like every time that he’d seen Sylvain.

Sylvain laughs quietly and takes a small step closer to Felix.

“Then let’s be true, you and I,” Sylvain sings softly. It’s the song from before, but it feels far less melancholic than it did on stage. It feels hopeful, happy. “You and I,” he sings again.

Felix realizes that it’s a promise.

“You and I,” Felix says back to him, his own promise, and Sylvain’s eyes light up.

Felix reaches forward and takes Sylvain’s hands in his own. His movements are deliberate, slow, giving Sylvain enough time to move away, but he doesn’t, instead squeezing Felix’s hands back and smiling at him, leaning forward.

"Yes,” Sylvain answers officially, his voice but a mere murmur. “I’d love to go out with you.”

 _Thank the Goddess,_ Felix thinks as his nerves settle, as his fears subside, as he settles against Sylvain.

-

Azure Wings is packed this Saturday, like all Saturdays before it and like all Saturdays to come. People are bustling about, drinking, chatting, enjoying the calm atmosphere of the bar. Up on stage, singer Sylvain Jose Gautier finishes his last song for the night, takes in the applause, and takes a quick bow after wishing everyone a good rest of the night.

As he hurries down the stairs leading up the stage, he politely excuses himself from his fans and weaves his way past the other patrons of the bar, his eyes scanning the room until they land on a pair of golden eyes staring back at him, full of mirth. Sylvain perks up at the sight of those familiar eyes and hurries to their owner, his official boyfriend of around three months, Felix Hugo Fraldarius. 

Months ago, his path to Felix—to love, to _happiness_ —was cluttered and messy, winding and hazy. His former one-night stands and fans dipped in and out of his path, pulling him astray and confusing him. His own fear and self-hatred darkened the path before him, leaving him to stumble around uncertainly and juggle his emotions. But months ago, Felix had met him halfway, taken him by the hand, and helped him here. 

Now, the path is well-trodden and clear as day, as if it's always been there, and Sylvain isn't planning on losing his way here, _home_ , any time soon.

“Good evening, good-looking,” greets Sylvain as he usually does, with a bright smile and a tight hug. Felix leans into the embrace before wordlessly holding out a bouquet of neatly-prepared roses towards him. “Oh? For me?” 

“Who else would it be for? Idiot.” Felix gives a scoff, a roll of the eyes, but Sylvain only feels warmth pooling in his chest when he sees the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips.

Sylvain plucks the bouquet out of Felix’s hands and wraps an arm around Felix’s shoulder, pulling him in for a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Fe. I love it.” He pauses a beat. His gaze drifts from the roses and to Felix's contented expression with his lips pulled into an amused smirk, his pale skin glowing from the lights of the bar, his hair neatly tied up into a ponytail.

He can't keep his eyes or his mind off of Felix. His chest swells with warmth, with love; his heart bounces around excitedly.

Felix must have noticed Sylvain staring. "What?" He raises an eyebrow.

“I love you.” Before he knows it, he's whispered out these words, unable to keep the fondness out of his gaze and his voice. It just felt so natural, as if these words were created solely for him to say to Felix. Once he's said it, once he's felt this strange tenderness and knows that he truly means it, he feels so free. A smile easily blooms on his face. "I love you so much."

Felix pauses. For a second, Sylvain tenses, his rowdy heartbeat coming to a crashing halt. Did he mess up somehow? Was that too much? Should he have kept that to himself?

But all of his concerns are quelled instantly when Felix lets out a small sigh and says, like he always does whenever Sylvain says anything romantic, “Sap." Felix lifts his face, brightly burning red, and locks eyes with Sylvain. "I love you too."

He kisses Sylvain, sweet and pure.

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out @qiliin's main piece [here](https://twitter.com/qiliin/status/1289609018571284481)! All of their art is just stunning, including the little vignettes here, and their main piece is so *chef's kiss*!!!!!!!!


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